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OF  CALIFORNIA 

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By  Andre  Maurel 

Little  Cities  of  Italy 

2  Vols.    30  Illas.    Maps 

A  Month  in  Rome 

1/5  Illtts.  30  Maps 

A  Fortnight  in  Naples 

About  80  Illas. 


By  Jindre  Mauret 
Little  Cities  o!  Italy 

2  Vols.     30  lUus,     Maps 

A  Month  in  Rome 

Its  lUus.     30  Maps 

A  Fortnight  in  Naples 

About  80  lUus. 


ist  Day:  In  Otia  Natam  Parthenopen.  and  Day:  The  Failure  of 
the  Gothic.  3rd  Day:  The  Failvire  of  the  Renaissance.  4th  Day: 
The  Triumph  of  the  Baroque.  5th  Day:  The  Porcelain  Cabinet. 
6th  Day:  Treys.  7th  Day:  Palaeopolis.  8th  Day:  In  Memory  of 
Pliny.  Qth  Day:  The  Two  Ubus.  10th  Day:  The  Lovers'  Coast. 
nth  Day:  The  Happy  Isle.  12th  Day:  The  Heaving  Region. 
13th  Day:  Tea  at  the  Villa  of  Lucullus.  14th  Day:  With  the  Sibyl. 
15th  Day:  The  Poison  Case. 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN 
NAPLES 

BY 

andr6  maurel 

AUTHOR  OF  "  LITTLE  CITIES  OF  ITALY," 
"a  month  in  ROME,"  ETC. 


AUTHORIZED   ENGLISH   EDITION 
TRANSLATED  BY 

HELEN  GERARD 

AUTHOR   OF   "the    STORY   OF  THE 
THIRTEEN  COLONIES,"   ETC. 


With  120  Illustrations  and  16  Maps 


G.   P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

XCbe     fmfcfterboctter     preed 

192 1 


Copyright,  192 1 

by 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


^^ 


CONTENTS 

» 

FIRST   DAY 

PAGE 

In     Otia     Natam     Parthenopen — Ancient 

Naples  ......         i 

SECOND   DAY 

The     Failure    of    the     Gothic — Angevin 

Naples  ......       32 

THIRD   DAY 

The    Failure    of    the    Renaissance — Ara- 

GONiAN  Naples       .....       70 

FOURTH   DAY 

The    Triumph    of    the    Baroque — Naples 

under  the  viceroys       ....     i04 

FIFTH   DAY 

The  Porcelain  Cabinet — Naples  under  the 

Bourbons      ......     149 

iii 

2000689 


CONTENTS 


SIXTH   DAY 

PAGE 

Treys — The  Museum 167 

SEVENTH   DAY 

Pal/Eopolis — Pompeii 190 

EIGHTH   DAY 

In  Memory  of  Pliny — Herculaneum    .         ,     223 

NINTH   DAY 

The  Two  Ubus,  Kings  of  Naples — Vomero, 
Ferdinand  IV.  of  Naples,  I.  of  the  Two 
Sicilies — Castellammare,  Ferdinand  II.    241 

TENTH   DAY 

The   Lovers*   Coast — Salerno  and  Amalfi    276 

ELEVENTH   DAY 

The  Happy  Isle — Sorrento  and  Capri  .    296 

TWELFTH   DAY 

The    Heaving    Region,    Bosom    of    Bal\ — 

PozzuoLi 316 


CONTENTS 


THIRTEENTH   DAY 

PAGE 

Tea    at    the    Villa    of    Lucullus  —  Baia, 
MiSENO  ......     337 

FOURTEENTH   DAY 

With  the  Sibyl — Cum.«,  Lake  Avernus         .     357 

FIFTEENTH   DAY 

The  Poison  Case — ^Vesuvius         .         .         .     375 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PACK 

View  of  Naples  from  the  Villa  Patrizi       .        4 

Alinari 

Via  Caracciolo,  Naples       ....        5 

Alinari 

Fountain,  Villa  Nazionale  ...        5 

Alinari 

Street  Venders  in  the  Strada  Santa  Lucia   14 

Alinari 

A   Street   in   Naples,   Sant'   Elmo   in   the 
Background     ......       22 

Author 

A  House  in  Naples 22 

Primoli 

Castel  dell'  Ovo 23 

Alinari 

Strada  Santa  Lucia  and  the  Pizzofalcone  .       23 

Alinari 

Monument  of  Robert  the  Wise,  Church  of 
Santa  Chiara,  Naples       ....       46 

Alinari 

vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGB 

Detail  of  the  Monument  of  Robert  the 
Wise         .......       46 

Alinari 

Tomb  of  Giulio  Caracciolo,  Church  of  San 
Giovanni  a  Carbonara,  Naples         .         .       47 

Alinari 

Tomb  of  Giovanni  Caracciolo,  Chapel  of 
Sunshine,  Church  of  San  Giovanni  a 
Carbonara,  Naples     ....   47 

Alinari 

Monument  of  Antonio  Caracciolo,  Chapel 
of  the  Caraccioli  di  Vico,  Church  of  San 
Giovanni  a  Carbonara,  Naples  .         .      47 

Alinari 

Monument  of  Galeazzo  Caracciolo,  Chapel 
of  the  Caraccioli  di  Vico,  Church  of  San 
Giovanni  a  Carbonara,  Naples         .         .       47 

Alinari 

The  Baptism  (Fresco  by  Giotto),  Church  of 
the  Incoronata,  Naples   ....       50 

Alinari 

The  Triumph  of  the  Church  (Fresco  by 
Giotto),  Church  of  the  Incoronata, 
Naples 50 

Alinari 

The  Head  of  a  Horse,  National  Museum, 
Naples     .......       51 

Alinari 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

Piazza  and   Church   of   Santa   Maria   del 
Carmine,  Naples 51 

Alinari 

Triumphal   Arch    of   Alfonso    d*    Aragon, 
Castel  Nuovo,  Naples      ....       76 

Alinari 

Detail  of  the  Triumphal  Arch  of  Alfonso 
d'  Aragon  ......       76 

Alinari 

Castel  Nuovo,  Naples         ....       76 

Alinari 

Piazza  di  San  Domenico  Maggiore,  with  the 
Church  and  Obelisk,  Naples    ...       77 

Alinari 

Interior  of  the  Church  of  Santa  Restituta, 
Naples     .......       77 

Alinari 

Tomb  of  King  Ladislaus,  Church  of  San 
Giovanni  a  Carbonara,  Naples         .         .       80 

Alinari 

Monument   of   Maria   of   Aragon,    Monte 
Oliveto,  Naples        .....       80 

Alinari 

Tomb    of    Cardinal    Rinaldo    Brancaccio, 
Church  of  Sant'  Angelo  a  Nilo,  Naples      80 

Alinari 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

Detail    of    Tomb    of    Cardinal    Rinaldo 
Brancaccio 80 

Alinari 

Interior  of  the  Cathedral  of  Naples  .       81 

Alinari 

The    Sacristy    of    the    Church    of    San 
Domenico  Maggiore,  Naples    .         .         .81 

Alinari 

Saint    John,    Church    of    San    Domenico 
Maggiore,  Naples    .         .         .         .         .106 

Alinari 

Tomb  of  Don  Pedro  of  Toledo,  Church  of 
San  Giacomo  Maggiore  .  .106 

Alinari 

Capuana  Gateway,  Naples  .         .         .         .110 

Alinari 

The  Obelisk  OF  Jesus,  Naples      .         .         .110 

Alinari 

Fountain,  Villa  Nazionale,  Naples     .         .111 
Alinari 

The  Cloisters  of  San  Martino,  Naples  hi 

Alinari 

The    Descent   from    the    Cross    (Ribera), 
Church  of  San  Martino,  Naples  136 

Alinari 

The   Presepe,    Museum   of   San    Martino, 
Naples 136 

Alinari 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

Interior  of  the  Church  of  San  Martino, 
Naples 137 

Alinari 

View  of  Naples  from  San  Martino      .         -137 

Alinari 

Royal  Palace,  Naples  .         .         .         .152 

Alinari 

rHE  Chapel  of  the  Royal  Palace        .         .152 

Alinari 

Piazza    San    Ferdinando    and    San    Carlo 
Theatre,  Naples      .         .  .         .156 

Alinari 

Interior  of  the  Church  of  Santa  Chiara, 
Naples 157 

Alinari 

The  Convent  of  San  Marcellino,  Naples    .     157 

Author 

Disillusion,  Chapel  of  Sansevero,  Naples  .     160 

Alinari 

Modesty,  Chapel  of  Sansevero,  Naples       .     160 

Alinari 

The  Dead  Christ,   Chapel  of  Sansevero, 
Naples 161 

Alinari 

Royal  Palace  of  Capodimonte,  Naples        .     161 

Alinari 

Psyche,  National  Museum,  Naples      .         .172 

Alinari 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

Dancing  Faun,  National  Museum,  Naples  .     173 

Alinari 

The    Farnese    Bull,    National    Museum, 
Naples  173 

Alinari 

The  Farnese  Hercules,  National  Museum, 
Naples 173 

Alinari 

Socrates,  National  Museum,  Naples  .         .178 

Alinari 

Homer,  National  Museum,  Naples  178 

Alinari 

Euripides,  National  Museum,  Naples  178 

Alinari 

Drunken      Silenus,      National      Museum, 
Naples     .......     179 

Alinari 

Sleeping  Satyr,  National  Museum,  Naples.     179 

Alinari 

Drunken  Satyr,  National  Museum,  Naples    179 
Alinari 

Narcissus,  National  Museum,  Naples.         .     182 
Alinari 

Orestes  and  Electra,   National   Museum, 
Naples     .......     182 

Alinari 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

The    Doryphoros,       National       Museum, 
Naples 182 

Alinari 

Paul   III   with   His   Grandsons,    National 
Museum,  Naples  .  .183 

Alinari 

Danae  and  Cupid,  National  Museum,  Naples     183 

Alinari 

Street  of  Fortune,  Pompeii         .         .         .192 

Alinari 

House  of  the  Faun,  Pompeii         .         .         .     192 

Alinari 

Pompeii  and  Vesuvius  .         .         .         .193 

Alinari 

The  Great  Theatre,  Pompeii       .         .         .193 

Alinari 

Peristyle   in   the    House   of    the    Vettii, 
Pompeii 196 

Alinari 

The  Temple  of  Isis,  Pompeii         .         .         .196 

Alinari 

The  Child  with  the  Goose,  House  of  the 
Vettii,  Pompeii  .....     197 

Alinari 

The  Forum,  Pompeii  (Two  Views)         .         .     202 

Alinari 

Royal  Villa  of  Portici        .         .         .         .228 

Author 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

Herculaneum  and  Resina    .         ,         .         .228 

Author 

Resina         .......     229 

Alinari* 

Herculaneum 238 

Author 

House  of  Argus,  Herculaneum  .    .    .  238 

Alinari 

Mercury    in    Repose,    National    Museum, 
Naples     .......     239 

Alinari 

Dancing  Women,  National  Museum,  Naples    239 

Alinari 

VOMERO  .......       262 

Author 

The  Plain  of  Stabi^  and  Vesuvius  from 
Castellammare         .....     262 

Author 

Church  of  San  Francesco  di  Paolo,  Naples    263 

Alinari 

Castellammare 263 

Alinari 

The  Ambo  in  the  Cathedral,  Ravello  .     282 

Alinari 

View     from     Hotel     Palumbo,     Ravello, 
Showing  Maiori  and  Minori     .         .         .282 

Alinari 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

The  Cathedral,  Amalfi       ....     283 

Alinari 

View  of  Amalfi  from  the  Grotto  of  San 
Cristoforo       ......     283 

Alinari 

Cloister     of     the     One-time     Cappuchin 
Monastery,  Amalfi 288 

Alinari 

La  Corniche  from  Salerno  to  Amalfi  .     288 

Author 

Amalfi         . 289 

Alinari 

Salerno  from  the  Harbour  .         .         .     289 

Alinari 

Sorrento,  Showing  the  Marina  Grande       .     298 

Alinari 

Grotto  of  Matromania,  with  Natural  Arch, 
Capri        .......     299 

Alinari 

Villa  of  Tiberius,  Capri      ....     299 

Alinari 

The  Blue  Grotto,  Capri      ....     304 

Alinari 

View  of  the  Faraglioni  from  the  Monas- 
tery, Capri       ......     304 

Alinari 

Marina  Grande,  Capri         ....    305 

Alinari 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 

Palace  of  Donn'  Anna,  Naples    .         .  305 

Alinari 

The  Roman  Amphitheatre,  Pozzuoli  .318 

Alinari 

Pozzuoli  from  the  Bay         .         .         .         -319 

Alinari 

Ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Serapis  .  330 

Alinari 

Pozzuoli  from  the  Bay         .         .         .  331 

Alinari 

The  Solfatara,  Pozzuoli      .         .         .         .331 

Alinari 

Baia,  Showing  the  Temple  of  Neptune        .     338 

Alinari 

Misenum  and  the  Mare  Morto,  the  Isle  of 
IscHiA  IN  the  Distance      ....     339 

Brogi 

The  Capo  Miseno  from  the  Sea  .         .         .     339 

Brogi 

Castle  of  Baia 356 

Alinari 

The  Capo  Miseno  with  the  Mare  Morte  on 
One  Side  and  the  Bay  of  Baia  on  the 
Other 356 

Brogi 

Lake  Fusaro        .         .         .         ...         .     357 

Sommer 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGB 

The  Acropolis  of  Cum^       ....       357 

Author 

The  Castle  of  Alfonso  of  Aragon,  Ischia   .     364 

Alinari 

The  Arco  Felice,  on  the  Way  to  Cum^  364 

Alinari 

Lake  Avernus      ......     365 

Alinari 

Grotto  of  the  Sibyl,  Lake  Avernus  .     366 

Sommer 

Lake  Avernus      ......     366 

Author 

Eruption  of  Mt.  Vesuvius  in  1906        .  376 

Fumagali 

Ascending  Mt.  Vesuvius      ....     380 

Author 

The  Summit  of  Mt.  Vesuvius  as  Seen  from 
the  Observatory      .....     380 

Alinari 

The  Cable  Railway,  Mt.  Vesuvius       .         .     381 

Alinari 

A  Car  of  the  Cable  Railway,  Mt.  Vesuvius    381 

Alinari 


First  Day 

IN  OTIA  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN 

Ancient  Naples 

AM  entering  the  Bay  of  Naples.     The 

levels  and  the  heights  before  me  are 

like  the  setting  of  a  magnificent  stage. 

The  background  is  high  and  sinuous, 

and  the  centre  rises  and  stands  out  free 

from  an  ample  level.     The  centre  is  Vesuvius,  on  the 

left  are  the  Phlegraean  Fields,  on  the  right  stand  the 

mountains  of  Sorrento,  and,  in  the  immediate  fore- 


A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


ground,  on  either  side,  the  rocks  of  Ischia  and  Capri — 
heralds  of  the  royal  pageant  to  be  presented  here — 
rise  from  the  blue  carpet  of  the  sea,  strewn  with  lilies 
and  roses. 

In  this  scene  of  abundance,  spread  out  by  nature,  of 
this  harmonious  generosity  of  earth  and  waters,  Naples 
is  the  bright  touch  in  floral  decorations — or  it  is  the 
rich  drapery  with  which  the  scene  painter  enlivens  a 
comer  of  his  ensemble,  to  graduate  its  values,  to  soften 
its  high  colours,  and  cleverly  to  distribute  its  lights. 
The  city  holds  together  the  sensations  that  are  inclined 
to  disperse  in  so  much  amplitude  and  profusion,  re- 
deeming the  loss  of  clear-cut  realities  and  grouping  the 
scattered  and  confused  ideas  too  suddenly  awakened 
by  this  vision,  so  strong  in  masses,  so  simiptuous  in  de- 
tail. Is  it  insisting  to  continue  and  say  that  almost 
insignificant  as  Naples  is  in  this  immensity,  by  the 
mere  accident  of  its  position  in  just  the  place  where  it 
should  be,  it  holds  mountains  and  plains  together  and 
distributes  all  the  minor  accessories  to  the  grandeur  of 
the  panorama  in  perfect  balance  and  harmony  ?  But 
Naples  is  more  than  a  stage  property  in  the  great  set- 
ting of  the  bay,  more  than  a  pivotal  thought  for  the 
philosopher.  It  is  an  entity  of  action;  and,  as  figures 
of  speech  come  to  mind  imperiously  in  this  flowery 
country,  I  confess  to  yet  another.  Some  dewy  morn- 
ing, look  at  the  taut  and  iridescent  threads  of  a  spi- 


IN  on  A  NAT  AM  PARTHENOPEN 


der's  web  upon  a  heap  of  dried  grass.  Interiacing 
through  the  delicately  spread  design,  the  fine  threads 
stretch  from  one  blade  of  grass  to  another,  firmly  at- 
taching the  web  that  seems  ahnost  to  float  above  the 
mass  that  sustains  it.  Half  hidden,  in  the  farthest 
comer,  a  bloated  little  grey  point  attracts  your  eye 
and  the  work  is  explained.  From  its  hole,  the  small 
insect,  lying  in  wait  for  its  prey,  presides  over  all  this 
brilliant  show.  So  Naples  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
Phlegraean  Fields,  crouching  on  either  side  of  the  moun- 
tain of  San  Elmo,  in  her  network  of  black  threads,  rail- 
ways and  waterways  extending  in  all  directions,  is  the 
industrious  arachnid  weaving  her  web  ready  to  take  all 
monsters,  broken  elytra,  for  her  glory  and  subsistence. 

We,  too,  shall  soon  be  fascinated  by  this  attractive 
and  dominating  city.  We  fly  towards  it  with  our  ap- 
proaching boat,  seeing  nothing  as  yet  but  its  brilliance, 
its  slender  form,  and  welcoming  aspect.  From  the 
middle  of  the  bay,  Sorrento  behind  us,  Vesuvius  at 
our  right,  Naples  is  alone  now  before  our  eyes,  lying 
along  the  beach.  How  pure  it  is  in  its  beauty,  height- 
ened by  the  green  scarf  of  the  Villa  Nazionale  lying 
lightly  across  it !  In  its  radiance  it  is  smiling  with  a 
thousand  dimples,  playing  with  the  foam  that  caresses 
it  and  with  the  branches  that  fan  it. 

Still  so  young,  so  full  of  life,  brilliant  with  all  the 
radiance  lighted  by  the  sun,  Naples  is  not  a  grey  spider 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


in  her  web  to  us  now,  but  the  queen  of  this  country, 
as  was,  in  times  past,  the  Siren  Parthenope.  We  are 
tempted  to  fancy  Vesuvius  the  hat  she  has  just  put 
off,  the  mountain  her  cloak,  and  the  sea  her  drawing- 
room.  If  ever  a  myth  corresponded  to  the  things  that 
gave  it  birth,  it  is  this  one.  From  the  depths  of  her 
grotto,  Parthenope  watches  the  travellers  attracted  by 
the  sweetness  and  the  majesty  of  these  shores.  No- 
thing less  than  the  subtlety  of  Ulysses  was  sufficient  to 
escape  her.  The  sea,  between  Miseno  and  Minerva, 
was  hers,  the  domain  today  belonging  to  Naples,  de- 
scendant of  the  ancient  Siren,  heiress  of  her  irresist- 
ible charms.  The  city  absorbs  everything  here,  and 
we  hasten  to  it,  disdaining  all  other  wonders,  scoffing 
at  danger,  understanding  at  last  why  so  many  genera- 
tions have  repeated:     "  Vedi  Napoli  e  poi  mori!" 

We  hasten  to  see  it,  yes,  but  not  to  die!'  From 
whatever  point  we  see  it,  from  the  Via  Parthenope, 
lying  along  the  sea,  or  from  the  slopes  of  Vomero  be- 
hind it,  wherever  we  respond  to  the  welcoming  hotel, 
we  see  her  radiance  that  casts  the  spell  of  enchantment 
over  the  mere  act  of  living.  If  we  like  to  take  our  ease 
at  the  price  of  £i  or  $5  a  day,  in  reception-rooms  which 
if  reserved  to  us  alone,  would  make  our  sojourn  cost  a 

'  To  follow  the  advice  of  this  saying,  with  its  double  meaning, 
instead  of  dying,  the  traveller  should  go  to  see  the  enchanting  little 
village  of  Mori. — H.  G. 


:4ii^ 


o 


Alinari 


Via  Caracciolo,  Naples 


Alinari 


Fountain,  Villa  Nazionale,  Naples 


IN  OTIA  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN 


small  fortune;  if  we  choose  a  simple  but  comfortable 
lodging,  gay  with  floods  of  sunshine;  if  we  prefer  to 
hide  behind  bushes  of  camellias  whose  flowers  are 
strewn  upon  the  ground,  or  under  a  trellis  of  April 
roses,  Naples  is  waiting  for  us  in  abundance  of  luxuries 
better  able  than  any  other  city  in  the  world  to  satisfy 
the  most  delicate  as  well  as  the  most  exacting  tastes 
in  the  creature  comforts  combined  with  the  highest 
aesthetics  of  purely  physical  aspects.  The  joys  and 
comforts  of  a  balmy  climate  are  offered  by  many  other 
places  on  the  Mediterrean  coasts;  some,  as  in  Sicily, 
with  the  addition  of  historic  ruins,  poetical  associations, 
and  natural  grandeur  for  the  inspiration  to  noble 
thoughts.  But  Gustave  Flaubert  said  the  truth: 
"One  must  go  to  Naples  to  dip  again  into  youth,  to 
love  life.  The  very  sun  is  in  love  with  it."  And 
Charles  VIII.,  arriving  here  after  his  tritunphal  march 
through  Italy,  wrote  to  his  friends  in  France:  "It 
only  lacks  Adam  and  Eve  to  make  it  a  paradise." 

As  we  approach,  we  begin  to  see  this  very  modern 
paradise  as  it  is.  We  have  left  the  heralds,  Ischia,  far 
on  our  left,  and  Capri,  nearer,  on  our  right,  and  are 
within  the  capes,  Miseno,  near  Ischia,  Sorrento,  near 
Capri.  Like  the  deep  green  of  a  pine  grove  against 
the  mother-of-pearl  of  a  sand  dune,  lies  the  open  park 
of  the  Villa  Nazionale  against  the  mass  of  the  town 
above  the  beach.    As  yet,  its  palms,  its  evergreen  oaks. 


A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


and  its  oleanders  are  as  indistinguishable  as  the  broad 
paths  that  thread  it  and  the  broad  streets  of  the  fash- 
ionable quarter  of  Chiaia  that  lie  between  it  and  the 
hill  of  Vomero.     The  sea  laps  the  stone  quays  of  the 
shore,  the  sails  flecking  it  with  pink,  and  Castel  dell' 
Ovo  rides  the  waves  that  move  in  trailing  lengths  of 
amethyst  bordered  with  swan's  down.     On  the  left, 
the  height  of  Pizzofalcone,  rushing  out  from  the  Hill 
of  San  Elmo  to  meet  us,  though  it  cut  the  city  into 
two  to  do  so,  fixes  its  houses  like  plaques  upon  the 
rocks  whose  caverns  they  seem  to  wish  to  hide.     On 
our  right  is  the  wonderful  outward  curve  of  the  base  of 
Vesuvius,  and  its  cone,  cut  off  now,  threatens  without 
frightening  us.     From  Castellammare  to  Naples,  the 
loins  of  the  perilous  mountain  are  girt  by  a  narrow  belt 
studded  with  the  villages  of  dramatic  name:     Castel- 
lammare, Torre  Annunziata,  Torre  del  Greco,  Resina, 
Portici,  San  Giovanni  a  Teduccio,  Fazzigno — an  un- 
broken chain  of  tragic  grace,  of  smiling  horror.     High 
above  is  a  beautiful  cloud  of  smoke  that  sometimes 
rests  like  a  cap  upon  the  crater,  sometimes  envelopes 
it,  sometimes  leaves  it  free.     Vineyards  creep  up  to- 
wards that  truncated  peak,  but  they  are  soon  displaced 
by  the  stones  of  lava  turned  brown  under  the  rays  of 
the  sun. 

The  arm  of  the  bay  on  our  left  appears,  perhaps,  a 
trifle  shorter  than  it  is,  Miseno  being  cut  off  from  us  by 


IN  on  A  NAT  AM  PARTHENOPEN 


Posilipo.  But  when  we  are  ashore  and  high  enough  to 
look  over  that  promontory,  it  will  seem  but  a  slight 
protuberance,  and  Cape  Miseno  will  be  the  headland 
that  balances  the  Punta  di  Campanella,  which  I  like 
best  by  its  old  name,  Cape  Minerva.  Behind  Miseno, 
Baia  balances  Castellammare,  as  Bagnoli  and  Pozzuoli 
pair  off  against  Portici  and  Resina. 

Now,  spread  over  all  this  a  fine  sunlight  without  ap- 
parent vibrations  as  without  vapours,  a  steady  light 
that  penetrates  to  the  depths  of  caverns,  to  the  lowli- 
est alley  of  the  villages,  bringing  out  the  details  of 
every  house,  every  bush.  By  turns  this  light  is  white, 
pink,  blue,  brown,  as  it  falls  upon  village,  vineyard, 
wood,  or  mountain,  spreading  out  its  rays,  while  sky 
and  sea  absorb  all  the  blue  that  it  can  yield.  Under 
it,  as  in  no  other  conditions,  everything  takes  its  true 
value.  It  is  nature's  greatest  wonder,  belonging  ex- 
clusively to  this  land,  revealing  it  in  the  most  real- 
istic clearness  that  an  exacting  and  critical  mind  can 
desire.  However  crude  they  may  be.  Nature's  lines 
here  are  of  disarming  perfection.  Ah,  how  true  they 
must  be  in  order  not  to  give  offence  in  any  comer 
whatever,  even  those  of  Vesuvius  which  do  not  fall, 
but  spread  themselves  out !  There  are  no  hard  lines 
with  all  this  freedom.  All  flows  in  curves,  nothing  is 
precipitous,  not  even  Cape  Miseno  with  all  its  ir- 
regularities.    Both  softness  and  brutality  are  absent. 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


Everything  has  pride  without  haughtiness,  dignity 
without  stiffness.  If  ever  the  fiction  of  the  architect 
of  the  universe  seems  plausible,  it  is  in  the  face  of 
this  monument  of  nature.  What  a  kindly  workman  a 
God  who  could  sketch  out  such  a  masterpiece !  Om- 
nipotence is  revealed  by  the  very  restraint.  The  au- 
thor never  falls  into  excess.  Everything  is  in  its  place, 
in  its  position,  in  its  frame,  under  the  light  which  alone 
can  bring  out  its  values. ' 

'  M.  Maurel  here  quotes  the  exqtiisite  lines  of  Albert  M6rat 
from  La  Ville  de  marbre  (Paris,  Alphonse  Lemerre). 

COUCHER  DE  SOLEIL  SUR  LE  GOLFE 

Le  soleil,  sans  hate  k  descendre, 
Sur  le  Pausilippe,  le  soir, 
Comme  un  dieu  fauve  vient  s'asseoir, 
Baignant  d'or  rouge  le  ciel  tendre. 

II  p41it,  glisse.     L'on  voit  mieux, 
Quand  I'^blouissement  recule, 
A  la  ligne  du  cr^puscule 
Les  rayons,  fils  harmonieux. 

Sur  1 'autre  rive  transparente 
Et  m^lodieuse  qui  n'a 
Que  des  noms  comme  Resina 
Pour  ses  murs  roses,  ou  Sorrente, 

Au  flanc  droit  du  petit  sentier, 
L'ombre  en  tridents,  au  bas  de  I'arbre, 
Comme  des  acanthes  de  marbre 
Sculpte  les  feuilles  du  fig^uier. 


7.V  OTIA  NAT  AM  PARTHENOPEN 


Surely  it  is  only  from  the  loftiest  heights  of  Parnassus 
that  one  can  fully  appreciate  this  voluptuous  perfec- 
tion, this  supremely  Greek  work  of  the  Bay  of  Naples, 
reflected  in  Albert  Merat's  faultless  verse.  The  acro- 
poli  and  the  stadii  of  the  untravelled  imagination  are 
here  preserved  by  nature.  In  early  times  Naples  was 
Greek.  Temple  and  theatre, —  one  can  only  see  in  them 
the  hand  of  antiquity  and  the  great  miracle  is  that  they 
still  remain  accessible  to  us.  Filled  with  wonder  as 
we  gaze  about  us,  we  can  not  help  thinking  that  it 
must  have  been  the  Greeks  who  planned  this  gulf  and 
its  surroundings.  Knowing  old  Vesuvius  and  what  his 
tricks  must  have  been  in  prehistoric  times,  we  still  fail 
to  see  in  this  perfect  bay,  any  traces  of  upheavals 
to  make  a  shiver  of  awe  chill  our  admiration.  It  is 
human  in  its  perfection  of  position,  construction,  and 
decoration,  in  its  harmony,  created  by  a  chisel  as  bold 

EUe  le  troue  en  decoupures 
Immobiles  de  bleu  fonce. 
Tout  le  paysage  est  trace 
En  lignes  attiquement  pures. 

Ces  traits  nets  sont  I'effet  voulu 
De  la  lumi^e  saine  et  forte. 
Sans  artifice  qui  la  sorte 
De  Textr^me  et  de  I'absolu. 

Le  detail  luit  dans  la  distance; 
L'ensemble,  tout  epars  qu'il  est, 
Sur  le  Vesuve  violet 
Se  resume  en  azur  intense. 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


as  clever,  in  the  illumination  by  a  brush  as  generous  as 
prudent — so  Daedalus  built,  so  Phidias  sculptured,  so 
Apelles  painted. 

Now  that  we  have  had  a  good  view  of  the  stage,  let 
us  go  on  and  mingle  with  the  scene.  Let  us  walk  in 
Chiaia  at  the  foot  of  the  tall  houses  in  the  solemn 
squares  and  wide  streets  which  are  new  or  even  in  con- 
struction, let  us  climb  and  descend  the  street-stairway 
sides  of  San  Elmo,  or  go  round  the  quays  of  Pizzofal- 
cone  and  pick  our  way  through  the  narrow  and  worldly 
strode  which  are  old,  the  most  cosmopolitan  streets  in 
the  world,  or  loiter  in  the  open  square  or  largo  filled 
with  trams  and  cabs  and  with  people  from  everywhere. 
Naples  has  the  familiar  aspect  of  the  great  cities  of 
today,  but  with  just  what  is  necessary  of  individual 
character  to  give  it  peculiar  interest  for  the  traveller. 
The  renown  and  splendour  of  the  old  and  universal  Via 
Toledo,  now  Via  Roma,  are  being  somewhat  usurped  by 
its  prolongation  to  the  sea,  the  Strada  Santa  Lucia,  lead- 
ing to  the  new  quays  at  the  foot  of  Pizzofalcone  where 
now  begins  the  tourists'  quarter  of  wider  spaces  and  of 
hotels  adapted  to  the  foreigners'  habits.  The  Toledo 
thus  modernized  would  be  shorn  of  the  picturesque  that 
we  are  in  search  of.  It  is  modem  enough,  too,  starting 
from  the  old  Largo  of  San  Ferdinando  (now  modern- 
ized into  a  piazza)   which  has  become  the  focus  of 


7.V  OTIA  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN 


tram  lines.  The  adjoining  square  of  the  Royal  Pa- 
lace, though  it  is  called  the  Piazza  del  Plebiscito,  is 
the  best  work  of  the  Baroque  in  Naples.  Look  at  it 
for  what  it  is,  but  it  lays  no  hold  on  the  memory.  Old 
Pizzofalcone,  on  the  contrary,  still  holds  up  its  head 
between  ancient  and  modem  Naples,  watching  over 
the  bay  of  Santa  Lucia,  filled  in  and  built  upon  with 
fine  new  quays  and  modern  hotels,  still  retaining  the 
appearance  that  gave  rise  to  its  name — the  "Falcon's 
Beard."  This  fortified  castle,  seen  from  all  parts  of 
the  city,  seems  to  watch  over  us,  too,  and  to  wish  to 
protect  us,  like  the  carabinieri  on  days  when  the  emo- 
tions of  the  people  are  likely  to  run  high — a  preventive 
or,  at  least,  a  menacing  protection. 

Where  is  the  Naples  we  were  expecting  to  see?  We 
look  for  it  in  vain  as  we  wander  up  into  the  town, 
away  from  the  new  quays  and  off  the  modernized 
streets.  We  are  in  the  Naples  of  the  people,  the  mot- 
ley crowd,  radiant  and  sordid,  in  tortuous  and  enr 
ctmibered  alleys.  We  scarcely  expected  to  hear  the 
cries  of  this  throng,  to  be  so  jostled  by  the  press  of 
carriages,  to  see  the  stagnant  gutters  in  the  middle  of 
the  streets,  and  that  artificial  mud  oozing  under  the 
most  beautiful  sunshine  in  the  world,  gathering  con- 
tinually by  reason  of  somebody's  sheer  negligence  to 
carry  it  away.  Are  men  and  horses  here  for  the  pur- 
pose of  carrying  it  about  on  their  feet  ? 


12  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Never  a  traveller  sleeps  his  second  night  in  Naples 
without  lament,  if  not  invective  upon  the  city  whose 
colour  has  been  so  praised  to  him.  A  beautiful  scene, 
yes;  but  as  soon  as  you  look  behind  it,  you  find  misery 
and  filth.  In  little  streets  on  which  two  carriages  can 
hardly  pass,  he  has  seen  immense  palaces  with  majes- 
tic courtyards,  with  cloistered  galleries,  with  monu- 
mental staircases ;  he  has  seen  little  shops  cut  out  of  the 
ground  floors  of  these  palaces,  and  industries  cluttering 
their  porticoes;  he  has  seen  goats  climbing  their  stair- 
ways and  making  them  unfit  for  man  to  pass ;  he  has 
seen  pavement  strewn  with  the  pots  of  the  woman  who 
deals  in  second-hand  wares,  her  dirty  children  rolling 
about  her  among  the  dogs,  and  the  men  squatting 
wherever  they  chance  to  stop ;  he  has  seen  work-benches 
planted  in  the  midst  of  household  debris  and  gar- 
bage a  week  old,  upon  which  women  tread  with  their 
bare  feet;  he  has  asked  himself  what  all  that  washing 
was  doing  suspended  across  some  of  the  streets  like  a 
thousand  punkas,  since  the  yellow  shirts  upon  the 
backs  of  men,  women,  and  children,  as  well  as  the 
blackened  sheets  upon  the  straw  pallets  half  seen 
through  open  doors,  cannot  have  been  washed  for  at 
least  a  year ;  he  has  scraped  his  shoes  on  the  stones  stick- 
ing up  by  the  hundreds  in  the  pavements  of  the  public 
squares,  the  Market,  at  the  Porta  Capuana,  or  along 
the  whole  length  of  the  old  breakwater;  he  has  slipped 


IN  OTIA  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN  13 

scores  of  times  on  the  refuse  rotting  underfoot ;  he  has 
felt  his  stomach  rise  at  the  sight  of  children  playing 
marbles  among  the  piles  of  nauseating  filth  along  a 
church  wall ;  he  has  had  to  hold  his  nose  and  cover  his 
eyes  twenty  times  in  as  many  yards;  his  clothing  has 
become  impregnated  with  this  black  dust  made  up  of 
all  the  particles  of  human  waste;  he  has  gone  out  of  his 
way  to  give  a  wide  berth  to  a  woman  combing  the  hair 
of  another;  he  has  had  whiffs  of  the  strange  mixtures 
carried  about,  hanging  from  the  fists  of  the  sellers,  under 
the  names  of  pizza,  of  panzarotti,  and  has  seenfragaglie, 
scapece,  spiritose  cooking  at  the  bottom  of  an  unsani- 
tary pot.  Worse,  the  traveller,  like  any  other  passer-by, 
has  had  refuse  from  a  kitchen  fall  on  his  head,  and  from 
what  a  kitchen !  He  has  even  risked  a  step  under  a  con- 
venient archway  just  in  time  to  save  himself  from  a 
shower  of  slops  thrown  from  the  sixth  storey.  And,  as 
he  lies  in  his  clean  bed  trying  to  sleep,  he  thinks  that 
the  man  who  has  not  seen  all  this,  who  has  not  gone 
out  the  Porta  Capuana  where  the  small  fish  of  the  sea 
are  offered  to  the  frugality  of  the  people,  who  has  not 
climbed  the  slippery  steps  of  certain  too  well-remem- 
bered churches  or  of  old  streets  bordered  by  hovels 
into  which  the  sunlight,  even  the  penumbra,  never 
enters — ah,  that  man  does  not  know  the  nauseating 
wretchedness  into  which  the  children  of  men  may  be 
born! 


14  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Yet  the  traveller  has  heard  singing  and  peals  of 
laughter  burst  from  the  depths  of  those  hovels ;  he  will 
never  forget  the  bliss  of  that  bambino  whom  he  saw  de- 
vouring a  suffrito;  he  has  rarely  passed  a  quay  or  a  piazza 
without  seeing  curly-headed  youngsters  contentedly 
asleep  in  the  sun,  if  it  were  winter,  or  in  the  shadow  if 
in  summer,  with  nothing  whatever  on  their  bodies  but 
pieces  of  sacking.  The  glove  stitcher  on  the  edge  of 
her  basso,  before  her  sewing-machine,  hair  drawn  back, 
oiled,  and  with  pot-hooks  on  the  temples,  hoops  in  her 
ears,  necklace  round  her  throat,  and  the  variegated 
fichu  crossed  over  her  bosom,  is  always  humming  some 
popular  air  as  she  shakes  her  head,  and  you  would  say 
that  she  did  not  know  of  the  existence  of  the  black 
rivulet  at  her  feet.  The  housewife  appears  at  her 
fifth-storey  window  crying  out  some  onomatopoeia  of 
jargon  to  the  small  boy  loitering  behind  his  cows, 
lets  down  her  basket  by  a  cord,  in  which  is  the  tumbler 
for  the  quantity  of  milk  called  for.  It  is  a  wonder  the 
boy  has  understood  her  in  the  uproar  made  by  her 
neighbours  from  the  heights  of  their  attics,  yelling 
that  they  have  not  received  full  measure  or  crying 
vengeance  on  more  or  less  imaginary  wrong.  Not 
once  only  has  the  foreigner,  on  his  morning  stroll  in 
the  Toledo,  seen  the  downfall  and  gorgeous  scattering 
of  a  mountain  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  and  has  stopped 
to  watch  the  patient  regathering  of  the  avalanche — 


Street  Venders  in  the  Strada  Santa  Lucia 


Aiinari 


IN  O  TIA  NA  TA  M  PA  R  THENOPEN  1 5 

which  would  overwhelm  one  of  us — of  all  those  figs 
and  tomatoes,  grapes,  beans,  and  cabbages,  radishes, 
turnips,  carrots,  all  those  salads  and  fennels,  especially 
that  beautiful  featherlike  green  tail  of  finocchio;  it  has 
become  wilted,  but  will  be  revived  in  a  moment — for 
already  the  fruitmonger  has  begun  again  his  contin- 
ual slap,  slap  of  the  hand,  throwing  water  which  re- 
awakens the  fresh  colours  and  revives  for  a  second 
the  drooping  leaves  of  his  greens.  Who  has  not  seen 
the  fifteen -year- old  girl,  already  almost  aging,  yet  so 
radiant  in  her  pins  and  her  fichu,  and  the  fifty-two 
glass  beads  tinkling  about  her  neck ;  who  has  not  seen 
two  toothless,  ragged  hags  chattering  at  the  street 
comer,  gesticulating  the  little  drama  they  are  narrat- 
ing; who  has  not  seen  the  cabby  on  his  box,  waiting 
for  customers,  undo  his  trousers  to  sew  on  a  button; 
who  has  not  given  ear  to  all  the  spontaneous,  fugitive, 
and  violent  outbursts  of  these  sensitive  and  nonchal- 
ant people ;  or  has  not  felt  his  head  swim  and  his  ears 
ring  with  the  overflowing  life  and  spirits,  the  songs,  the 
shouts,  the  eflEective  words,  even  the  murmurs,  equally 
vibrating — ^that  man  has  not  seized  the  higher  meaning, 
the  psychological  significance,  to  put  it  exactly,  and  the 
moral  lessons  that  the  Neapolitans  can  teach  him  in 
their  living  proof  that  poverty  is  not  the  only  cause 
of  so  much  abandon.  To  these  people,  heedless  of  de- 
privation as  of  wealth,  an  orange  slakes  the  thirst,  two 


16  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

pennyworth  of  macaroni  is  a  meal,  and,  during  eight 
months  of  the  year,  the  bed  they  like  best  is  the  side- 
walk. One  thinks  of  Horace  singing  the  otiosa  Ne- 
apolis,  of  Ovid  celebrating  in  otia  natam  Parthenopen. 
The  man  who  has  not  let  go  of  the  Pharisee  in  himself 
to  the  forgiving  of  everything  in  all  this  indifference  to 
civilized  exigencies  under  this  balmiest  sky  in  the  world, 
who  has  not  felt  a  throb  of  brotherhood  with  these 
natures  susceptible  to  the  enjoyment  of  all  instincts, 
even  that  of  the  beautiful  which  sleeps  in  every  child 
of  the  Latin  lake — that  man  does  not  know  how  easy 
it  is  to  live  when  one  is  full  of  enthusiasm ! 

If  you  wish  to  know  the  daily  existence  of  this  sordid 
and  careless  Neapolitan  world,  read  Matilde  Serao's 
Paese  di  cuccagna.  Then  you  will  know  where  these 
people  live,  what  they  earn,  what  they  eat,  and  the 
silly  and  touching  fancies  or  flattering  superstitions 
which  they  cherish  as  of  almost  sacred  importance. 
But  if  you  wish  an  explanation  and  a  symbol  of  this 
gentle  race  whose  actions  are  said  to  be  thoughtless 
because  they  arise  from  the  depths  of  their  conscience, 
inspired  by  the  obscure  will  of  the  species,  go  to  the 
little  building  in  the  Greek  style  built  by  the  "Zoologi- 
cal station"  in  the  centre  of  the  Villa  Nazionale.  It 
is  the  Aquarium  and  at  the  same  time  it  is  Naples. 
All  the  fairyland  of  colour  is  there,  all  the  fiery  lights 
that  the  sun  repeats  every  day  at  his  setting  on  the 


IN  OTIA  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN  17 

steep  sides  of  Vesuvius  and  on  the  points  of  Sorrento 
and  Capri  are  there.  The  seven  notes  of  the  scale 
were  enough  for  Beethoven.  The  seven  colours  of 
the  prism  furnish  the  light  for  all  these  infinite  har- 
monies of  tint.  The  magnificent  and  majestic  crus- 
taceans move  about  cautiously  among  the  pebbles, 
climbing  their  transparent  walls  with  prudence,  the 
lively  dorados  squirm  and  wriggle  upon  the  invisible 
larvae,  and  the  formed  fish  swim  over  and  amongst 
them.  It  is  the  lower  life  struggling  for  development 
toward  perfection.  Study  all  these  things  with  no- 
thing but  life  and  the  primitive  movements,  whose 
motion  only  indicates  that  they  are  alive;  see,  on  the 
tall  stems  with  the  feathery  ends  of  the  papyrus  which 
disclose,  when  they  are  ravelled,  small  shells  that  move 
so  slowly  that  you  must  look  at  them  for  a  long  time 
to  see  that  they  budge;  see  those  corals  which  are  little 
trees,  those  crabs  which  are  still  rocks  or  still  snails, 
look  well  into  this  half -animal,  half -vegetable  world 
from  the  inaccessible  depths  and  ask  yourself  if  it  does 
not  represent  the  Neapolitan  people,  resigned  or,  at 
least  accepting,  moving,  and  living  without  ever  de- 
manding to  know  why.  The  protoplasm  which  floats 
upon  the  surface  contains  the  germ  of  the  highly  de- 
veloped creature  to  come;  so  do  these  children  of  Nep- 
tune live  because  they  must  live  for  the  ascension  of 
the  race  to  higher  states.     This  medusa  with  its  hang- 


18  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

ing  tentacles  of  barely  moulded  jelly,  a  pink  mush- 
room, milky,  impalpable,  dancing  in  the  water  all  day 
and  all  night,  does  nothing  but  make  curtsies  with  its 
little  balloon-like  body  up  and  down,  serving  no  other 
purpose  to  our  eyes  than  to  graduate  and  combine  the 
most  enchanting  tints.  Like  the  people  of  Naples 
who  dance  for  the  pleasure  of  dancing,  this  jelly-fish 
seems  to  be  a  sort  of  rainbow  to  reflect  the  rays  of  the 
sun  upon  its  flesh  and  its  gluey  shreds.  No  doubt  it 
has  some  other  reason  for  existence.  We,  like  they, 
are  ignorant  of  it,  but  it  is  their  reason  just  the  same. 
Do  you  see  that  sensitive  stem?  From  it  will  come 
out  some  vibration  that  will  give  life  to  a  thing  less  in- 
articulate, and,  in  the  evolution  of  a  thousand  years, 
a  lobster  or  a  dorado  will  open  its  large  eyes,  ignorant 
that  its  life  was  developed  from  the  reed.  The  selec- 
tion goes  on  every  day  amongst  the  Neapolitan  people; 
out  of  them  springs  a  Mazianello,  a  Bernini,  a  Serao. 
The  poor /azsorone  knows  nothing  about  it,  nor  does  he 
care,  but  none  the  less  he  goes  on  his  way,  shaking  his 
rags,  as  the  medusa  does  her  skirt,  from  which  float 
germs  that  will  fertilize  other  forms. 

From  what  other  larvae  of  the  past  do  these  of  to- 
day come  ?  If  the  world  is  in  constant  transformation, 
not  creation,  what  was  their,  I  may  not  say  initial, 
but  earliest  known  form?     It  would  be  philosophi- 


IN  0 TIA  NA  TA  M  PA  R  THENOPEN  1 9 

cal  to  see  in  the  siren  Parthenope  one  of  the  primi- 
tive links  between  the  protoplasm  and  the  human 
being.  The  doctrine  of  the  evolution  of  species  should 
be  satisfied  by  the  legend  which  makes  that  woman- 
fish  or  fish-woman  die  in  her  rock-bound  home  of 
unrequited  love  for  a  mortal  man.  Was  not  the  first 
Naples  built  around  her  tomb  ?  Poor  Parthenope,  less 
happy  than  her  neighbotu-  Circe!  Science,  however, 
is  not  satisfied  with  that  origin.  Although  the  Greeks 
attested,  on  a  stone  which  has  been  found  among  the 
foundations  of  San  Giovanni  Maggiore  that  the  Siren 
was  placed  here  in  her  tomb,  science  does  not  feel 
obliged  to  believe  them.  So  many  other  inscriptions 
commemorate  mere  fancies!  Naples,  leaving  fables 
behind,  enters  into  history  about  a  thousand  years 
before  the  Christian  Era.  Let  us  leave  Parthenope 
doing  her  best  toward  the  evolution  of  a  htrnian  being 
with  legs,  and  look  at  the  immigrants  from  Chalcis 
and  from  Thebes  landing  at  Ischia  and  moving  on  to 
Cimaae.  Their  too  numerous  progeny  soon  made  a  merry 
hunt  for  husbands  and  wives,  like  the  Horatii  among 
the  Curiatii,  finding  other  bands  of  immigrants  come 
to  meet  them  from  Sorrento  and  Capri.  They  fought 
no  battles;  at  least,  no  poet  tells  us  that  they  did. 
Apparently  it  was  a  saving  of  time  to  embrace  at 
once.  Thus  Cumae  grew  until  it  was  able  to  found  two 
settlements  within  the  bay:   one  that  became  Poz- 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


zuoli  and  the  one  here  called  Parthenope  in  memory 
of  Ulysses. 

There  are  those,  however,  who  wish  to  give  the  plan- 
tation of  Parthenope  a  more  directly  Greek  origin. 
The  Signora  Matilde  Serao  relates  the  charming  legend 
of  the  young  virgin,  as  beautiful  as  Minerva  and  Juno, 
who  was  loved  by  Cimon.  The  horizon  of  Thessaly 
was  not  wide  enough  for  their  love  which  yearned  to 
embrace  the  universe.  Since  some  of  their  barbaric 
relatives  were  opposed  to  so  much  ardour,  Cimon 
carried  Parthenope  away  to  the  farthermost  shore  of 
the  gulf  of  love.  Accordingly,  in  the  tomb  of  the  Siren 
you  must  see  only  that  of  the  Neapolitan  Eve.  That 
is  why  Naples  is  the  city  of  kisses. 

Parthenope  soon  became  so  prosperous  a  settlement 
that  it  roused  the  jealousy  of  the  parent  colony,  and 
the  Cumaeans  "invaded  the  country,  killed  the  people, 
sacked  the  fields,  and  returned  home."  This  sentence 
from  Thucydides  upon  the  wars  of  Syracuse,  so  admi- 
rably concise  and  universally  expressive  that  it  may  be 
applied  to  all  conquests,  even  in  our  own  day,  tells  just 
how  the  Cumaeans  lived  up  to  the  time-honoured  con- 
ception of  civilization. 

Nevertheless  the  city  of  Parthenope  survived,  to  be 
saved  again  some  five  or  six  hundred  years  later,  when 
another  people,  brothers  no  doubt,  the  Etruscans,  ap- 
pearing in  their  ships,  threatened  Cumae,  hoping  to  take 


IN  on  A  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN 


it  for  a  refuge  against  the  Romans  who  were  pursuing 
them.  Denys  of  Syracuse  came  to  the  relief  of  the 
Cumaeans,  and  the  victory  of  474  b.  c.  saved  Parthen- 
ope.  It  is  probable  that  the  fertile  Campania  Felix 
on  the  shore  of  the  bay  retained  many  of  the  Syra- 
cusan  warriors  and  attracted  others  from  the  popu- 
lous Ortygia.  Parthenope  outgrew  the  heights  of 
Pizzofalcone,  or  was  it  on  the  hill  of  San  Giovanni 
Maggiore,  or  on  La  Garola,  the  point  of  Posilipo  ?  A 
new  city,  Neapolis,  was  built  and  the  town  of  the  Siren 
became  merely  the  "old  city,"  Palasopolis. 

Where  was  the  Palaeopolis  of  Parthenope,  on  what 
ground  lay  Neapolis,  are  disputed  questions  to  this  day. 
Signor  Salvatore  di  Giacomo,  the  Mistral  of  this  Italian 
Provence,  dialect  poet,  and  scholar  in  ethnography  and 
archaeology,  as  was  the  singer  of  Mireille,  can  help  us 
no  further  than  to  suggest  that  perhaps  the  primitive 
city  occupied  the  hill  which  rises  from  San  Giovanni 
Maggiore  toward  the  Duomo,  while  Neapolis  may  have 
lain  around  what  is  now  the  Old  Market — Mercato 
Vecchio.  The  space  seems  to  me  restricted  for  two 
cities.  If,  however,  in  order  to  keep  your  imagina- 
tion in  harmony  with  Livy,  you  prefer  to  think  of  the 
two  as  separate  cities,  you  might  accept  the  theory  of 
those  who  place  Palaeopolis  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  of 
Capodimonte.  We  still  see  there  immense  quarries 
which  were  once  utilized  as  catacombs  and  whose  size 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


recalls  the  Latomia.  Parthenopasans  and  Syracusans 
must  have  retained  from  their  common  fatherland, 
Greece,  this  manner  of  cutting  the  rock  to  take  out 
stone  wanted  for  their  buildings.  But  the  settling  of 
the  questions  of  those  early  sites  involves  the  solution 
of  deep  problems,  dependent  upon  customs  too  little 
understood  at  this  remote  day.  It  is  possible  to  ap- 
proach many  probabilities  without  being  able  to  see 
them  in  the  form  of  truth.  We  may  even,  without 
rufHing  our  desire  for  exactitude,  set  Neapolis  upon 
and  beside  the  ruins  of  the  old  city.  The  different 
names  served  to  flatter  the  new  colonists.  We  must 
not  forget  that  there  was  a  Neapolis  at  Syracuse,  and 
we  may  believe  that  the  children  of  Achradina  did  not 
wish  to  be  mistaken  for  the  discomfited  citizens  whom 
they  had  saved  from  the  Etruscans.  Can  we  not 
judge  what  part  they  played  in  Neapolis  by  the  medal 
struck  in  474  to  commemorate  the  peace  between 
Athens  and  Syracuse?  Alone,  the  Syracusans  might 
attain  a  success  such  as  any  other  people,  especially 
Greeks,  could  not  dream  of  reaching.  So,  we  may  be 
sure,  Parthenope-Palaeopolis-Neapolis  prospered  on 
the  eastern  shore  of  the  gulf,  and  if,  as  sang  Villon, 

De  tr^s  beau  parler  tiennent  chaires, 
Ce  dit  on,  les  Napolitaines, 

we  may  be  sure  that,  in  spite  of  science,  Naples  in- 
herits the  Siren. 


Author 


A  Street  in  Naples — Sant'  Elmo  in  the  Background 


Primoli 


A  House  in  Naples 


.  .,^^;^ 


Castel  dell'  Ovo 


Alinari 


Alinari 


Strada  Santa  Lucia  and  the  Pizzofalcone 


IN  OTIA  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN  23 

Rome  was  not  slow  to  cast  eyes  upon  this  happy 
land,  so  full  of  profound  associations:  the  land  where 
Tarquin  sought  refuge,  where  ^neas  had  landed, 
where  Ulysses  had  amused  himself.  The  climate  had 
attracted  many  a  Roman  to  this  bay  long  before 
Augustus  organized  Naples  into  a  city.  Lucullus  was 
installed  on  Pizzofalcone  and  on  Megaris,  the  island 
which  then  bore  the  name  of  the  wife  of  Hercules,  and 
today  is  called,  for  the  supposedly  egg-shaped  castle 
that  covers  it,  the  Castel  dell'  Ovo.  The  coast  was 
sprinkled  with  villas,  and  we  shall  find  that  the  Romans 
were  already  at  Baia. 

It  was  Greece,  which  had  been  lost  for  love,  that 
Rome  came  to  seek  here;  and  notwithstanding  the 
violence  done  her  by  the  Romans,  Greece  still  lived 
here  triumphant.  On  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire, 
followed  by  that  of  the  exarchate  of  Byzantium,  Naples 
did  not  hesitate.  She  was  faithful  to  the  basileus,  to 
the  head  of  the  Greek,  the  Eastern  form  of  the  Christ- 
ian Church. '     If  the  day  came  when  she  tried  to  free 


'  She  fell  under  the  Ostrogoths  of  Totila  in  the  sixth  century, 
was  freed  from  them  once  by  Belisarius,  and,  although  recaptured 
and  held  for  eleven  years,  was  retaken  to  the  mother  heart  by  the 
great  Nares,  general  and  afterward  Exarch,  in  553,  remaining  a 
part  of  the  Eastern  Empire  until  the  menace  of  the  Lombards 
warned  her  to  look  out  for  herself.  With  a  doge  or  duca,  she  long 
maintained  her  independence  without  abandoning  the  Eastern 
Church.— H.  G. 


24  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

herself  from  her  basileus,  that  last  tie  to  the  East,  it  was 
only  by  reason  of  the  same  impulse  that  compelled  all 
the  cities  of  the  Italian  peninsula  to  create  an  inde- 
pendent life,  in  no  way  forgetting  her  attachment  to 
the  one  or  the  other  of  her  ancestors.  Towards  the 
beginning  of  the  eighth  century,  when  Naples  became 
a  recognized  duchy,  there  was,  however,  a  new  power 
to  be  reckoned  with :  the  Western  Church,  abandoned 
by  the  emperors  in  their  flight  to  Byzantiimi,  had 
raised  her  head  and  the  papacy  of  Rome  had  become 
grasping  and  suspicious.  The  Pope  had  grown 
anxious  about  those  Neapolitan  Greeks  still  under  the 
spiritual  rule  of  Byzantium.  The  Duke  of  Naples, 
then  Stephen  II.,  following  the  example  set  by  his  pre- 
decessor, Sergius,  who  had  brought  his  career  to  a  cul- 
mination in  similar  manner,  had  himself  proclaimed 
Bishop,  and  going  a  step  further,  compelled  the  Pope 
to  crown  him.  Rome  was  reduced  to  silence.  How 
could  she  look  with  evil  eye  upon  this  monarchy  whose 
monarch  was  a  priest?  To  be  sure,  his  dignity  was 
Byzantine,  but  the  Pope  knew,  as  well  as  Stephen, 
that  the  chief  use  of  the  title  was  to  intimidate  the 
Lombard  invaders,  who  had  voracious  appetites  for 
the  rich  Campania. 

The  Lombards  came  soon  enough,  camping  at  the 
gates  of  Naples,  that  is  to  say,  at  Benevento,  at  Capua, 
at  Salerno.    The  basileus  was  far  away  and  much  occu- 


IN  OTIA  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN  25 

pied.  So  the  Diike  of  Naples  drew  closer  to  the  tute- 
lary pope  who  had  already  put  Pepin  and  Charlemagne 
to  the  trouble  of  making  him  a  kingdom. 

For  almost  a  century  Naples  realized  what  had 
formerly  existed  at  Jerusalem  and  what  the  Papacy 
was  trying  to  impose  upon  the  Italians:  a  sacerdotal 
kingdom.  This  State  being  Greek  in  its  civil  condi- 
tions and  Roman  in  matters  spiritual,  Naples  was  then 
the  only  centre  of  Graeco-Latin  culture  remaining  in 
the  world.  Her  clergy  was  superior  to  all  the  others, 
mingling  not  only  the  two  forms  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion, but  the  geniuses  of  the  two  races.  The  Greek 
manuscripts  which  have  survived  for  us  we  owe,  in 
part,  to  the  ambassadors  of  the  Dukes  of  Naples  to  the 
basileus.  They  took  advantage  of  the  voyage  to  make 
copies  of  the  original  parchments  afterwards  destroyed 
by  the  Saracens.  Beautiful  and  unhappy  Naples  of  the 
ninth  century!  She  wished  to  keep  her  personality 
and  to  lose  nothing  of  the  benefits  acquired  through 
her  mental  and  economical  development.  She  wished 
to  remain  Greek  because  Greece  was  the  mother  of  all 
science  and  beauty ;  she  wished  to  be  Latin  since  Rome 
had  founded  the  existing  society  and  laid  down  the 
law.  So  it  was  that  she  called  upon  those  pirates  of 
the  Mediterranean  shores,  the  Saracens,  to  aid  her  in 
maintaining  her  liberty  because  she  wished  to  preserve 
her  body  and  her  mind,  abandoned  as  she  was  by  the 


26  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

powerless  basileus  and  by  the  too  grasping  Pope  in  the 
hour  when  she  was  threatened  by  the  Lombards.' 
The  Duke  at  that  moment  was  Sergius  II.,  the  man  for 
the  crisis.  He  rallied  Naples'  ancient  rival,  Amalfi,  to 
help  her  drive  out  the  barbarian  auxiliary  who  was 
repaying  himself  too  freely  for  the  aid  furnished.  The 
Saracen  yielded,  going  off  to  Rome  where  he  pillaged 
St.  Peter's.  Then  Sergius's  son  hastened  to  the  aid  of 
Leo  IV.,  and  Naples  assumed  the  command  of  a  league 
against  the  barbarians.  But,  Southern  Italy,  disem- 
barrassed of  the  Saracens,  merely  offered  a  freer  field 
to  the  Lombard  ambitions.  The  basileus  was  uneasy; 
so  he  smiled  a  little  on  the  Lombards.  At  that  Ser- 
gius II.  and  his  uncle  Athanasius,  Bishop  of  Naples, 
recalled  the  Saracens.  The  Pope  soon  persuaded 
Athanasius  that  to  Naples,  Lombards,  basileus,  and 
Saracens  were  but  different  names  for  the  same  thing, 
so  Greeks  and  Romans  united  with  the  Lombards 
against  the  barbarians,  and  the  victory  of  915  practi- 
cally drove  the  Saracens  out  of  Italy  for  ever. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  combinations  and  competi- 

*  The  Lombards  had  long  been  seated  at  Benevento,  having 
conquered  that  important  Roman  colony  at  the  junction  of  the 
Appian  Way  and  four  other  Roman  roads  (one  connecting  Naples 
with  a  large  part  of  Italy).  After  the  fall  of  the  Lombards' 
Kingdom  of  Pavia  in  the  eighth  century,  they  made  this  duchy 
into  a  principality,  practically  a  kingdom  which  dominated  most 
of  Southern  Italy.— H.  G. 


IN  OTIA  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN  27 

tions,  however,  the  Lombards  had  continued  their 
miserable  course,  although  with  small  profit.  Naples 
still  attracted  them  and  Naples  was  still  looking  about 
her  to  see  in  whom  she  could  find  help  to  protect  her- 
self against  them.  In  1028  another  Neapolitan  Duke 
Sergius  found  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  call  upon 
some  of  those  Normans  who  had  suddenly  appeared 
in  Southern  Italy  and  distinguished  themselves  at 
Bari  by  the  side  of  Melo,  the  leader  of  the  revolt  in 
which  the  Greeks  of  that  city  threw  off  the  yoke  of  the 
Saracens  and  all  the  dominion  of  Byzantium.  Sergius 
gave  his  sister  in  marriage  to  Rainulf  the  Norman  and 
made  him  Count  of  Aversa  so  that  he  and  his  Normans 
made  that  castle  a  bulwark  against  the  invasion  of 
Naples  from  the  North.  Let  the  Lombards  look  out 
now! 

The  Lombards  did  give  up,  not  to  the  Normans  of 
Aversa,  but  under  the  blows  of  those  greater  Normans 
of  the  Hauteville  family  and  the  magic  name  of  Robert 
Guiscard,  whose  adventures  unfold  before  our  eyes  in 
the  Apulia  and  the  Campania. '  A  century  later  the 
walls  of  Naples  were  taken  by  assault  by  the  great 
Robert's  nephew,   Roger  II.,  Count  of  Sicily.^     In 

'  Little  Cities  of  Italy,  vol.  iii.  (in  preparation). 

» A  few  lines  from  the  none  too  familiar  pages  of  this  history 
may  aid  the  reader  whose  wide  knowledge  M.  Maurel  takes  for 
granted. 

"In  1038,  the  oldest  three  of  the  twelve  sons  of  Tancred  the 


28  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

1 139,  Naples  became  the  capital  of  the  Two  Sicilies, 
a  beautiful  kingdom  which  was  to  be  lost  to  France  by 
the  stupidity  of  an  Angevin  and  which  the  ignominy  of 
a  Bourbon  would  impel  to  give  itself  to  Italy. 

Norman  lord  of  the  castle  Hauteville-le-Guichard  (about  eight 
miles  north-east  of  Coutances)  first  appeared  in  Italy  with  at  most 
five  hundred  men  to  assist  the  Greeks  of  Calabria  to  attack  the 
Saracens  of  Sicily.  So  great  was  their  prowess  that  they  soon 
became  counts  and  were  fighting  their  own  battles.  Other 
brothers  came  out  to  share  their  increasing  power,  among  them 
Robert  to  whom  another  Norman  lord,  Girard  di  Buon  Albergo, 
gave  the  name  of  Guiscard  (the  wily),  it  is  said,  but  may  it  not 
have  been  merely  the  name  of  the  paternal  castle,  Hauteville-le- 
Gmchard?  In  1090,  the  youngest  brother,  Roger,  was  established 
as  Count  over  Sicily,  won  from  the  Saracens  and  from  their  con- 
querors, whom  the  Normans  had  aided,  the  Greeks.  The  other 
brothers  and  their  descendants,  doughty  warriors  of  their  day, 
have  faded  from  the  pages  of  history,  but  Roger  and  his  line  ruled 
in  this  region  for  many  generations,  as  Normans,  as  Germans,  as 
Spaniards.  His  oldest  son  Tancred  was  the  crusader,  hero  of 
Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered.  His  second  son  Roger  II.  united 
the  Norman  conquests  on  the  peninsula,  including  his  own  con- 
quest of  Naples,  with  those  of  his  island  and,  at  his  capital  Paler- 
mo, in  1 130,  he  had  himself  crowned  King  of  the  Two  Sicilies, 
as  he  styled  his  more  than  double  realm.  He  was  succeeded  by 
his  second  son,  William  'the  Bad,'  who  was  followed  by  his  son, 
William  'the Good'  (so  characterized,  both  of  them,  in  the  monk- 
ish records),  who,  dying  in  11 89,  left  the  Two  Sicilies  to  his 
natural  son  Tancred.  He  was  succeeded  by  his  son  William  III., 
the  last  Hauteville  on  the  throne.  This  last  William 's  great  aunt, 
Roger  II. 's  daughter  Costanza  d'Hauteville,  or  d'Altavilla,  as  the 
old  Norman  name  had  become  Italianized,  had  married  Henry 
VI.,  son  of  Barbarossa,  and,  when  the  second  William  died,  the 
Emperor  declared  that  Tancred,  being  a  natural  son,  was  not  heir 
to  the  throne,  but  Costanza,  or  her  husband,  Henry  was.     The 


IN  OTIA  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN  29 

Through  all  her  vicissitudes,  however,  Naples  has 
kept  the  soul  of  her  fathers.  It  was  she  who  held  the 
torch  of  the  antique  which  Frederick  11.  seized  with 
such  intoxication,  placing  it  in  the  hands  of  his  dear 
Manfred  who  passed  it  on  to  us  of  modern  times. 
When  we  talk  of  our  civilization,  we  should  never 

Sicilians  preferred  Tancred,  however,  and  he  resisted  successfully; 
but  his  son  William  III.  was  overcome  by  Costanza's  husband 
who,  by  that  time,  was  the  Emperor  Henry  VI.  That  was  in  1 194 
and  the  beginning  of  actual  rule  by  the  Germans,  who  had  often 
come  down  here  and  long  coveted  power  in  this  rich  land  without 
masters  to  preserve  it  from  the  soldiers  of  fortune  of  all  races. 
Henry  died  three  years  later,  leaving  his  thrones  to  his  son  Fred- 
erick, so  that  it  may  almost  be  said  that  the  first  of  the  strong  and 
celebrated  Hohenstaufen  rulers  of  Naples  and  Sicily  was  the 
grandson  of  Norman  Roger  II.  who  was  the  Emperor  Frederick  II. 
of  Germany,  King  Frederick  I.  of  the  Two  Sicilies.  The  subse- 
quent history  of  Naples  and  its  neighbours  hangs  upon  a  peg 
driven  into  it  by  Costanza  the  Norman  princess.  Her  German 
son  was  not  too  welcome  to  his  mixed  Norman,  Latin,  and  Greek 
subjects, — not  to  mention  all  the  blood  that  ran  in  the  two  king- 
doms,— and  to  obtain  the  support  of  the  Pope's  condoUieri  (by 
this  time  become  another  power  in  the  land),  she  agreed  to  the 
papal  claim  that  the  kingdom  be  recognized  as  a  fief  of  the  Church. 
Frederick's  crusades  and  his  quarrels  with  the  Pope,  engrossing 
as  they  were  at  times,  did  not  prevent  him  from  winning  over  the 
hostility  of  his  Norman  kingdom  to  a  German  ruler,  nor  did  his 
popularity  and  the  aid  of  his  wife,  Costanza,  daughter  of  the  King 
of  Aragon,  the  world  renowned  brilliancy  of  his  court  at  Palermo, 
his  schools  and  imiversities  there,  and  his  own  poetry  in  the 
Sicilian  dialect  prevent  his  barons  from  rebellion  both  in  Sicily 
and  in  Naples.  In  1250,  he  left  his  troubles  and  his  vast  dominion 
to  his  son,  Conrad  IV.  of  Germany,  Emperor  of  the  Romans,  King 
of  Jerusalem  and  the  Two  Sicilies.     The  last  realm  of  this  mighty 


30  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

forget  how  much  of  it  we  owe  to  Naples.  Poor  as  we 
find  her  now,  let  us  always  remember  the  centuries  of 
her  Greek  culture  that  rolled  away  between  the  fall  of 
the  Empire  and  the  arrival  of  the  Normans.  The 
sacred  fire  was  very  low  but  Naples  kept  it  smoulder- 
ing, pious  and  wilful  vestal  that  she  was. 

Do  you  see  those  two  Corinthian  columns  in  the 
middle  of  the  fagade  at  the  top  of  the  steps  of  the 
church  of  San  Paolo?  Look  at  them  tenderly:  all 
that  is  left  of  the  Greek  Naples  to  which  we  owe  so 
much.  Sergius  crushed  the  Saracen  at  the  Garigliano ; 
Byzantium  could  not  resist  against  the  son  of  Moham- 

list  Conrad  handed  over,  with  its  papal  quarrels,  to  the  regency  of 
his  half-brother,  Frederick's  natural  son,  the  great  Manfred.  On 
Conrad's  death,  the  regency  continued  unbroken  for  his  son  Con- 
radin,  and  Manfred  was  so  popular  that  upon  a  false  rumour  of 
the  boy's  death  he  was  proclaimed  and  crowned  King  of  the  Two 
Sicilies  at  Palermo,  for  which  Urban  IV.  excommunicated  him — 
anyway  he  had  even  marched  into  the  papal  territory,  to  say 
nothing  of  having  made  himself  master  of  Tuscany — and  called 
upon  the  King  of  France  to  send  his  brother  Charles  of  Anjou  to 
humble  him.  This,  indeed,  Charles  did  at  the  battle  of  Bene- 
vento  in  1266,  when  Manfred  was  killed,  and  Charles,  invested 
in  the  Hohenstaufen's  place  with  all  honour  by  Clement  IV., 
thought  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure  by  causing  the  young 
Conradin  to  be  put  to  death  in  1268.  Fourteen  years  later,  how- 
ever, that  murder  was  avenged  by  the  massacre  of  the  Sicilian 
Vespers,  and  the  Sicilians,  aided  by  the  interests  of  the  papacy 
against  the  growth  of  Angevin  power  in  Italy,  forced  Charles  to 
retire  to  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  leaving  the  island  to  the  heir  of 
the  Norman  conquerors  as  represented  by  the  German  Manfred's 
Spanish  son-in-law  Pedro  III.  de  Aragon. — H.  G. 


IN  OTIA  NATAM  PARTHENOPEN  31 

med.  In  the  Roman  Forum  the  Temple  of  Castor  and 
Pollux  perpetuates  the  souvenir  of  the  Dioscuri  who 
saved  Latinity  upon  the  shores  of  Lake  Regillus. 
Those  same  Dioscuri  had  their  temple  at  Naples  also, 
and  these  columns  are  all  that  remains  of  it.  The 
brothers  of  Helen  maintained  Hellenism  in  the  land 
where  Leo  IV.  became  reconciled  with  Duke  Sergius 
and  his  uncle  the  Greek  bishop.  Even  if  the  Naples 
of  today  had  not  the  natural  classic  splendour  that 
we  are  to  become  intimately  acquainted  with  in  our 
fortnight's  visit,  still,  for  this  souvenir  of  Castor  and 
Pollux  alone,  she  would  be  worthy  of  our  piety — pity 
one  might  say,  in  thinking  of  the  ages  upon  which  we 
are  about  to  enter. 


IVATIOMAL     MUSCUKK 

YAftOS  vV 


Second  Day 

THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC 

Angevin  Naples 

E  who  asks  of  his  travels  only  impres- 
sions of  pure  beauty  in  art  will  not  be 
detained  long  at  Naples.  The  Mu- 
seum, to  be  sure,  is  large  and  so  full  of 
treasures  that  you  may  pass  weeks  in 
it,  finding  new  beauties  there  every  day.  The  Museum 
excepted,  however,  the  buildings  and  other  works 
scattered  about  the  city  fill  you  with  disappointment 
and  wrath.  In  the  seventeenth  century,  a  veritable 
cyclone  of  Spanish  rage  swept  over  what  was  then  a 
beautiful  capital,  although  Naples  never  equalled  her 

32 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  33 

gorgeous  sisters,  Florence  and  Venice.  To  attribute 
to  the  Spaniards  a  set  purpose  to  debase  this  foreign 
city,  fallen  by  inheritance  under  their  power,  merely 
for  the  object  of  strengthening  their  hold  upon  it  would 
be  unjust.  It  is  no  longer  pardonable  to  follow  blind 
instinct,  or  race  antipathy,  in  such  matters.  More 
safely,  might  we  admit  the  deliberately  laid  plan  of 
the  artists  in  possession  of  Naples  in  that  same  seven- 
teenth century  who,  led  by  Ribera  (Lo  Spagnoletto, 
the  Little  Spaniard,  as  he  was  called) ,  undertook,  or  at 
any  rate  accepted,  the  task  of  effacing  the  past  under 
their  own  work.  Even  if  of  inferior  artistic  merit,  an 
ancient  building  deserves  respect  when  it  represents 
an  epoch  with  sincerity.  It  must  be  acknowledged 
that  in  destroying  the  Gothic  of  Naples,  the  Baroque 
committed  a  national  mistake,  far  as  was  that  art  of 
the  Angevins  from  possessing  any  traits  that  could  be 
called  Neapolitan  in  character. 

Artists  and  viceroys  we  shall  meet  again  and  we  shall 
know  them  well  enough  to  see  some  of  the  profound 
reasons  that  underlay  their  actions ;  but  never  can  we 
overcome  the  first  impression  received  from  the  monu- 
ments of  Naples  in  the  three  great  plastic  arts.  Seized 
with  the  nausea  of  the  ubiquitous  Baroque,  the  traveller 
can  think  of  nothing  but  flight,  forgetting  that  it  may 
be  worth  the  trouble  to  seek  the  consolation  of  a  few 
pearls  in  this  mass  of  trash.      There  are  jewels  of 


34  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

price  here,    and  it  is  the  duty  of  the  narrator  to 
show  them. 

I  will  not  ask  you  to  approach  each  heap  and  scratch 
until  we  find  a  treasure.  Is  it  not  better  to  have  each 
work  of  art  systematically  separate  from  its  surround- 
ings and  placed  in  the  modest  box  of  this  little  book, 
where  it  will  be  seen,  at  least,  even  if  it  shines  with 
feeble  lustre? 

Research  and  presentation  demand  a  certain  amount 
of  method  and  order.  The  plan  of  seeing  Naples  in 
the  strictest  historical  order,  which  forces  itself  upon 
me,  is  not  that  usually  followed  by  travellers.  My 
justification  is  that  history  being  the  essential  nail 
upon  which  to  hang  both  works  and  ideas,  it  is  neces- 
sary, if  not  to  see  Naples,  certainly  to  remember  it  and 
to  talk  of  it,  that  we  follow  its  course  across  the  cen- 
turies. The  Greek  landscape,  so  closely  allied  to  the 
foundation  of  the  city,  has  already  lured  us  into  this 
form.  The  prologue  gives  the  tone  of  the  work. 
Since  there  remain  but  two  columns  of  the  Greeks  and 
but  a  wall  of  the  Normans,  our  next  question  is,  what 
is  left  of  the  Angevin  occupation?  Then,  of  the  Ara- 
gonese?  When  we  have  seen  we  shall  arrive  quite 
naturally  at  the  Naples  of  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  at  the  times  of  the  Spanish  viceroys, 
which  we  can  see  without  repetitions  at  every  step 
that  would  drag  through  a  detailed  study  of  the  worst, 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  35 

the  most  mercantile  art  that  has  ever  sullied  the  earth. 
Clearness  and  justice  will  thus  be  satisfied.  Here, 
more  than  in  any  other  city  of  Italy,  we  find  the  politi- 
cal and  social  events  inseparable  from  their  artistic 
evidence,  and  if  this  book  is  the  first  to  describe  the 
art  of  Naples  in  following  the  times  instead  of  obeying 
the  imperious  caprice  of  the  road  we  may  be  able  to 
obtain  an  extra  benefit  from  this  systematic  disorder. 

From  the  day  of  Belisarius  to  the  day  of  Garibaldi, 
the  Porta  Capuana  has  been  the  principal  entrance  to 
the  city — not  a  sea  gate,  but  the  land  entrance,  at  the 
south-eastern  corner  of  the  Angevin  city.  All  the  con- 
querors, all  the  kings,  and  all  the  armies  have  passed 
through  it  either  to  take  the  city  or  to  proclaim  their 
victories.  At  first  but  a  simple  opening  in  the  wall, 
in  1485,  under  the  Aragonians,  it  took  the  aspect  it  has 
today,  except  in  decorations  which  date  from  the  time 
of  the  first  viceroys.  Did  its  surroundings  differ 
greatly  from  those  we  see?  The  church  of  Santa 
Catarina  a  Formello  was  not  there,  and  the  Strada 
Carbonara  did  not  enjoy  its  present  amplitude.  But 
the  sellers  of  small  and  old  wares  who  keep  in  the  sha- 
dows of  the  towers,  the  permanent  market  established 
in  the  gutter,  the  swarms  of  ragged  people  who  come 
here  to  look  for  their  sustenance,  composed  of  all  the 
left-overs  of  sea  and  field,  all  these  are  the  same  as  of 


36  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

old.  It  is  here  that,  with  purse  in  hand,  the  cittadino 
meets  the  contadino,  who  has  brought  his  full  basket 
down  from  the  mountains  or  across  some  part  of  the 
bay.  The  Norman  kings,  Roger,  the  German  Conrad, 
Charles  d'Anjou,  Alfonso  of  Aragon,  even  our  King 
Charles  VIII.,  knew  the  Capuana  much  as  we  know  it, 
that  is,  speaking  of  atmosphere  rather  than  of  strict 
lines. 

Except  the  Rogers  of  Sicily,  all  the  kings  who  en- 
tered Naples — by  the  Porta  Capuana,  of  course — saw 
rising  before  them  the  smooth  walls  of  Castel  Capuano. 
We  are  told  that  the  castle  we  see,  now  called  La 
Vicaria,  was  begun  by  King  William  I.,  son  of  Roger 
II.,  and  completed  by  Frederick  II.  in  1231,  and  that 
until  the  time  of  Ferdinand  I.  of  Aragon  it  was  the 
residence,  at  least  officially,  of  the  kings.  In  1540 
the  Viceroy,  Don  Pedro  de  Toledo,  abandoned  the 
castle  completely  as  a  residence,  installing  in  it  the 
Courts  of  Justice  to  which  it  is  still  dedicated.  We 
may  look  through  it  in  vain  for  trace  of  Norman  or 
Angevin  art.  The  great,  square  building  of  one  storey 
perched  upon  two  entresols  has  the  appearance  of  a 
barrack,  a  true  expression  of  the  times  of  William  and 
of  Charles.  We  no  longrr  see  a  guard  in  the  porticoed 
courtyard,  yet  there  does  not  seem  so  great  a  differ- 
ence as  we  might  expect  between  the  people  moving 
about  in  it  and  the  men  who  once  pressed  about  the 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  37 

soldiers  and  swarmed  the  kitchens  of  Frederick  II., 
of  Conrad,  and  of  the  Angevins.  The  Neapolitans 
of  today  remember  too  well  the  heroism  and  the  vil- 
lainy of  the  old  days  not  to  retain  some  resemblance 
to  their  ancestors.  The  salvation  of  this  relic  of  the 
thirteenth  century  has  been  that  no  art  presided  over 
its  development.  Merely  a  useful  building,  it  has  not 
excited  the  jealousy  of  succeeding  dynasties  eager  to 
destroy  everything  of  which  they  were  not  the  authors, 
nor  has  it  excited  the  hatred  of  artists  anxious  to  show 
that  they  could  do  something  as  meritorious  as  the 
work  of  their  predecessors. 

From  the  main  fagade  of  the  Castel  Capuano  to  the 
Toledo  runs  what  is  now  the  broad  Strada  de'  Tribu- 
nali.  It  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  streets  of  Naples, 
and,  like  Rettifilo,  now  merged  in  the  Corso  Umberto 
I.,  and  the  Strada  San  Biagio,  it  is  an  artery  of  the 
Angevin  city.  About  all  of  the  thirteenth-century 
capital  lies  within  well-defined  boundaries.  On  the 
east,  the  line  runs  from  the  Capuana  to  the  Old  Market 
and  the  quays ;  on  the  north,  from  the  Capuana,  partly 
by  way  of  the  ancient  Strada  San  Giovanni  a  Car- 
bonara,  to  the  upper  end  of  the  Toledo  (which,  how- 
ever, was  made  by  Don  Pedro  and  still  defies  its  new 
name  of  Via  Roma),  ending  somewhere  near  where  now 
stands  the  Museum.  On  the  west,  the  line  follows  the 
length  of  that  same  Toledo,  under  the  lee  of  the  densely 


38  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

built-up  hill  of  San  Elmo,  past  the  site  of  the  Royal 
Palace,  built  later  by  a  Spanish  viceroy,  even  to  Pizzo- 
falcone  and  the  island  which  Pliny  called  Megaris — 
where  William  I.  began  the  fort,  finished  by  Frederick 
II.  for  his  treasure,  which  was  a  residence  of  Charles 
I.  and  all  the  Angevin  royalty,  although  the  present 
Castel  deir  Ovo,  with  its  fancied  resemblance  to  the 
form  of  an  egg,  is  another  monument  to  Don  Pedro. 

Is  it  in  deference  to  the  memories  it  cherishes  of 
those  old  times  that  the  Strada  de'  Tribunali  is  the 
dirtiest  of  all  Naples?  There  is  a  certain  air  of  dis- 
tinction about  it.  Like  the  surroundings  of  the  Porta 
Capuana,  it  cannot  differ  greatly  from  what  it  was  as 
far  back  as  the  time  of  the  Joans,  and  although  the 
court  no  longer  dashes  through  the  alleys  running  to 
the  sea,  the  Tribunali  and  San  Biagio  would  suffer  if 
rebuilt.  When  we  think  of  ancient  Naples  and  her 
great  palaces  with  porticoes,  courtyards,  and  triiimph- 
al  stairways — the  triumph  of  the  goats  today — our 
thoughts  turn  to  these  holes  in  the  Strada  de'  Tribu- 
nali. Between  the  two  shops  of  a  bookseller  and  a 
shoemaker,  here  is  the  little  charcoal  furnace  of  the 
woman  who  sells  spiritosa  or  panzarotti,  if  not  fragaglia. 
Fragaglia  is  what  is  left  over,  unsalable  fragments  and 
what  not  of  fish,  fried  in  oil.  Spiritosa  is  composed 
of  leeks  sprinkled  with  vinegar,  garlic,  allspice,  and 
pepper.     As  to  panzarotti,  you  can  have  your  choice 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  39 

of  one  made  with  artichoke,  cauliflower,  or  anchovy. 
The  Neapolitans  crowd  around,  besiege  the  dirty  slat- 
tern whose  kettle  is  halfway  out  of  the  shop  on  the 
sidewalk  where,  also,  her  merchandise  accumulates. 
Where  else  could  it  be?  Her  shop  is  a  cave,  narrow, 
black,  where  the  freshest  of  cherries  might  as  well  be 
prunes.  Farther  on,  the  cobbler  has  brought  his 
vamps  to  the  edge  of  the  gutter,  like  Hans  Sachs 
in  the  theatre,  and  so  has  the  housewife  her  wash 
tub.  The  carpenter  flings  his  shavings  about  your 
feet,  and  the  fruit  dealer  his  wilted  salads,  which 
are  laid  to  freshen  in  any  moisture,  sometimes  in 
the  puddles  upon  the  pavement.  From  the  court- 
yards come  all  the  noises  of  intimate  family  life  and 
out  of  the  doors  come  a  loitering  sort,  as  well  as 
animals  and  children.  The  small  folk,  almost  nude, 
admire  your  trousers  and  on  account  of  their  ignor- 
ance, not  impudence,  must  be  as  carefully  watched  as 
the  dogs  when  you  are  in  their  neighbourhood.  The 
women,  in  skirts  and  low-cut  chemises,  sit  near  their 
doors,  sometimes  working,  always  talking,  singing, 
laughing,  and  threatening  the  urchins  to  make  you 
believe  that  nothing  less  than  a  thrashing  is  in  store 
for  them,  if  you  did  not  know  that  it  is  well  understood 
on  both  sides  that  no  chastisement  can  have  the  least 
effect  as  punishment  on  the  young  rascal  who  has 
grabbed  a  head  of  cabbage  and  bitten  it. 


40  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

No  city  in  the  world  is  so  made  for  loitering  as 
Naples.  The  Tribunal!  and  San  Biagio  offer  more 
than  any  of  the  other  streets,  perhaps,  to  the  traveller 
who  is  looking  for  things  to  astonish  him,  although  he 
must  not  be  too  easily  enraged.  Near  the  middle  of 
the  Tribunali,  on  a  small  square  opposite  San  Paolo's 
Corinthian  columns  and  part  of  the  architrave,  which 
are  all  that  remain  of  the  Temple  of  Castor  and 
Pollvix,  we  are  reminded  of  our  errand  to  look  for  traces 
of  the  Angevin  dynasty,  the  stamp  of  the  Gothic. 
Here  it  is  in  the  church  of  San  Lorenzo  which  retains 
its  primitive  state  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other  in 
Naples.  Was  the  architect  a  Frenchman  or  a  Floren- 
tine pupil  of  Niccold  Pisano?  Let  us  try  to  make 
peace  between  the  old  disputants,  Burckhardt  and 
Vasari,  with  the  curious  and  plausible  theory  of  M. 
Emile  Bertaux  upon  the  Apulian  origin  and,  conse- 
quently, the  Norman  education  of  the  great  Pisan 
sculptor.  Even  if  San  Lorenzo  was  not  the  work  of 
Niccol6,  it  is  affirmed  that  he  came  to  Naples  in  1220 
to  work  upon  Castel  Capuano  and  that  he  remained 
here  ten  years.  At  any  rate,  San  Lorenzo  is  Gothic 
and  has  kept  the  traits  of  its  youth  in  the  door,  the 
gallery  of  the  interior,  and  the  radiant  chapels.  The 
dukes  of  Durazzo  are  buried  under  its  vaultings, 
sacrificed  to  the  divers  and  insatiable  appetites  of 
Joan  L,  daughter  of  the  wise  Robert.     Let  us  look 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  41 

carefully  at  the  modest  tomb  of  the  little  Maria  of 
Durazzo,  a  sarcophagus  representing  the  Virgin  car- 
ried to  heaven  by  two  angels  with  an  awkwardness 
that  recalls  our  most  touching  monuments  of  the 
Middle  Ages :  only  two  lions  with  handles  record  the 
passage  of  the  Lombards.  It  was  here  that  Petrarch 
prayed  and  that  Boccaccio  met  Fiammetta.  The  Ba- 
roque has  been  employed  to  efface  such  memories ;  but 
who  can  stand  in  modern  Naples  and  look  without 
emotion  at  these  walls,  behind  which  sat,  under  the 
protection  of  Championnet,  the  first  government  of 
the  Parthenopian  Republic? 

At  San  Domenico  the  remains  of  Angevin  days  are 
still  more  scanty;  and,  after  a  few  steps,  here  we  are  at 
Santa  Chiara  where  the  great  shade  of  Robert  the  Wise 
might  come  forth  from  his  noble  tomb.  In  the  matter 
of  sculpture  must  we  limit  our  findings  in  Angevin 
architecture  to  these  two  churches ?  Yet,  if  we  consult 
the  archives  and  set  up  a  synoptical  picture  we  shall  dis- 
cover that  all  but  about  a  dozen  of  the  churches  of 
Naples  were  of  Angevin  origin.  Aragon,  had  other  cares 
in  the  short  sixty  years  she  lived  here,  and  has  left  us 
only  the  Incoronata  and  San  Giovanni  Battista.  The 
two  hundred  and  thirty  years  of  the  Spanish  vice-roy- 
alty are  marked  by  five  temples  only :  Santa  Catarina  a 
Formello,  San  Paolo,  the  Gesu,  the  Gerolomini,  and  San 
Giacomo  dei  Spagnuoli.     Charles  III.  signed  his  name 


42  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

to  two:  San  Severino  and  San  Marcellino.  Ferdi- 
nand put  his  mark  on  two  also :  the  Carmini  and  San 
Francesco  di  Paola,  the  first  at  the  beginning  of  his 
reign,  the  second  at  the  end  of  his  reign.  All  the  other 
churches  of  Naples  date  from  the  Angevins.  What 
has  become  of  them  ?  Poor  daughters  of  exiled  fathers 
who  wished  by  their  beauty  to  recall  their  youthful 
days  passed  in  the  deep  forests  and  under  the  deep 
snows.  Newcomers  stripped  them  of  their  severe 
garments,  to  dress  them  up  again  in  gold  and  jewels. 
If  it  were  not  for  a  ribbon  forgotten  or  some  ne- 
glected ring  the  orphans  would  be  unrecognizable: 
some  arches  at  San  Lorenzo  and  at  San  Domenico,  at 
San  Giovanni  a  Carbonara  and  at  Sant'  Angelo  a  Nilo, 
a  door  at  San  Giovanni  Maggiore  and  at  San  Giovanni 
di  Pappacoda, — a  marvellous  Norman-Sicilian  clock- 
tower — a  door  also  at  the  Duomo,  an  entire  nave  at 
San  Pietro  a  Majella;  but  in  Santa  Chiara,  the  An- 
nunziata,  Santa  Maria  Regina,  Corpus  Domini,  and 
twenty  others  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  renounce  all 
hope  of  finding  the  fresh  flowers  of  the  Gothic  which 
Charles  of  Anjou  and  his  children  strove  to  acclimate 
on  the  burning  shores  of  the  ancient  Parthenope. 

It  is  a  gloomy  review  we  have  made  of  these  once 
beautiful  aspirations  in  stone,  and  when  we  look  at  the 
tomb  of  Robert  the  Wise  in  Santa  Chiara  what  regrets 
take  possession  of  us!     Oh,  the  Baroque  was  doubly 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  43 


sacrilegious  here  in  Naples !  Yet  must  we  not  ask  why 
the  Gothic  art  which,  arriving  here  in  all  its  purity  and 
attaining  perfection,  could  not,  after  three  centuries, 
inspire  respect,  hold  its  own,  in  a  word,  become  na- 
tional? Because  architecture  is  an  art  that  is  above 
all  subject  to  the  land  where  it  flourishes,  to  its  sky, 
to  its  flora,  to  its  customs.  Fog  and  sun,  oaks  and 
oUves,  the  shut-in  life  and  the  life  of  the  market-place 
are  not  suited  to  the  same  buildings.  The  Gothic 
characteristics  could  never  be  adapted  to  this  country 
of  sunshine,  freedom,  and  nudity.  Deplore  as  we 
must  the  savagery  of  the  Baroque,  let  us  not  fail  to 
understand  that  the  Baroque  was  possible  only  be- 
cause Italy  could  not  retain  the  Gothic,  because  it  was 
too  foreign  to  the  country,  opposed  to  the  tempera- 
ment as  to  the  atmosphere  and  climate.  The  spirit  of 
the  Italian  genius  is  in  the  Renaissance  as  the  Ger- 
manic genius  is  in  the  Romance.  Gothic  France  was 
touched  by  the  Renaissance  also  only  because  her  skies 
share  something  of  the  two  climates. 

In  those  years  of  the  fourteenth  century  when  Italy 
began  to  germinate,  when  Florence  and  Siena,  among 
other  cities,  were  preparing  for  the  Quattrocento, 
Naples  was  incapable  of  producing  a  single  really  na- 
tional artist.  Though  she  was  Italian  and  tormented  by 
the  Greek  atavism,  nevertheless,  when  the  Angevins 
wished  to  build,  their  churches  were  placed  in  the  hands 


44  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

of  French  or  Tuscan  architects,  their  tombs  were  sculp- 
tured and  their  chapels  were  painted  by  Florentines  and 
Sienese.  Those  foreigners  were  good  workmen  who 
knew  how  to  please  the  tastes  of  those  who  paid  them, 
but  the  novices,  descendants  of  the  immigrants  from 
Chalcis,  infants  scarcely  awakened,  did  not  know  how  to 
direct  the  adaptable  artists  who  were  filling  their  orders. 
The  Gothic  was  to  them  an  undecipherable  enigma. 
What  Naples  of  the  Angevins  saw  in  the  Gothic  was 
merely  a  ready-made  art  brought  in  by  a  conqueror 
who  was  not  capable  of  thinking  of  any  other.  She  was 
taught  to  speak  a  language  that  she  could  not  under- 
stand. In  creating  a  certain  Masuccio,  soon  rein- 
forced by  a  second  Masuccio  without  making  him  any 
the  more  secure,  an  effort  was  made  to  create  a  Nic- 
col6  Pisano  of  the  Parthenopaean  gulf.  All  the  works 
attributed  to  them  have  had  to  be  recredited  to  their 
Florentine  or  Sienese  authors.  What  does  it  matter 
anyway  if  Masuccio's  work  be  Angevin?  The  Nea- 
politan inability  is  but  the  more  glaring.  Whether 
or  not  the  tomb  of  Robert  the  Wise  in  Santa  Chiara 
was  made  by  the  second  Masuccio  or  by  Sancius  and 
Giovanni  of  Florence,  it  is  Angevin,  as  are  all  of  that 
time. 

The  funeral  montmient,  although  ornamented  with 
lace-work  ogees,  is  of  severity  that  appeals  to  us  as 
unequalled,  standing  here  in  this  Baroque  ballroom, 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  45 

shining  with  its  almost  blinding  brilliancy.  The 
tomb  rests  under  a  carved  arch  supported  by  two 
columns,  each  made  into  three  stages  of  niches  filled 
by  statues.  Below,  the  king  lies  guarded  by  angels; 
above,  the  king  is  seated  in  a  costume  that  reminds 
us  of  the  emperors  and  the  Normans  of  Palermo ;  still 
higher  is  the  Virgin  with  Saint  Claire  and  Saint  Fran- 
cis. The  proud  dignity  of  the  king  is  indescribable. 
The  face,  ruined  as  it  is  by  time,  has  a  majesty  in  the 
rude  strength  and  innocence  of  the  straightforward 
man  of  action  to  which  the  cleverest  Nolas  will  never 
attain.  Here,  indeed,  is  the  hallmark  of  the  North- 
ern Gothic:  the  gravity  of  feature  and  gesture,  the 
dignity  of  attitude.  Life  in  the  North  is  a  serious 
matter;  it  has  no  room  for  either  thoughtlessness  or 
gaiety.  Never  in  the  world  could  a  Neapolitan  have 
conceived  such  a  statue.  And  the  Angevin  would 
have  believed  himself  damned  if  he  had  been  inter- 
preted in  Bernini's  manner.  From  his  tomb  Robert 
must  look  with  disapproving  eye  upon  the  row  of 
cameos  in  front  of  the  organ  which  was  placed  opposite 
his  last  resting  place  in  1345,  the  year  of  his  death; 
it  must  make  him  tremble  with  indignation.  Yet  this 
work  of  the  sculptor  of  the  tomb,  Giovanni  da  Firenze, 
and  of  a  certain  Pace,  these  bas-reliefs  of  the  life  of 
Saint  Claire  may  be  counted  among  the  most  charming 
productions  in  existence,  and  nothing  is  more  impec- 


46  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

cable,  more  worthy  of  these  disciples  of  Giovanni 
Pisano.  In  the  freshness  of  spirit  and  of  workman- 
ship, the  sincerity  and  honesty  which  were  the 
glory  of  the  first  Tuscans,  I  know  of  nothing  more 
pleasing. 

The  passage  of  the  Angevins  is  marked  by  other 
mausoleums  in  Santa  Chiara,  in  San  Domenico,  San 
Lorenzo,  Santa  Maria  Regina,  the  Duomo,  and  Corpus 
Domini.  To  speak  of  the  first  and  most  perfect  of 
them,  that  of  Robert,  is  to  speak  of  them  all.  And 
that  is  the  supreme  proof.  Among  all  these  works, 
standing  out  throughout  the  period  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  in  honoiu:  of  the  Angevins  and  their  most  con- 
siderable servitors,  not  one  differs  materially  from  the 
others.  In  vain  we  look  to  Tino  di  Siena  for  some- 
thing that  may  distinguish  him,  a  little  more  dryness, 
anything,  even  a  shortcoming.  His  monument  of  the 
Queen  Maria  in  the  Regina,  those  of  Matilda  d'Acaja 
and  of  the  Duke  Charles  of  Calabria  in  the  Corpus  are 
the  good  work  of  the  good  pupil  of  a  good  master, 
Giovanni  Pisano.  They  are,  above  all,  Angevin. 
One  feels  and  sees  everywhere  the  hand  that  guided 
the  fingers  that  used  the  compass  and  square.  The 
king  is  present,  forbidding  any  glorification  of  himself 
other  than  such  as  was  accorded  his  ancestors  in  the 
cathedrals  of  Provence  or  the  Isle  of  France.  To  him 
Paradise  itself  was  Gothic!     No  Angevin  king  could 


k 


Alinari 

Monument  of  Robert  the  Wise,  Church 
of  Santa  Chiara,  Naples 


Alinari 


Detail  of  the  Above 


48  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

a  mighty  fusion  of  Angevin  Gothic  and  Florentine 
Renaissance.  If  Joan  II.  had  not  carried  away  the 
Angevin  spirit  into  her  tomb,  who  can  tell  into  what 
new  form  Andreas'  effort  might  have  led  it?  Our 
natural  liking  for  the  Gothic  excuses  the  dream  in 
which  reason  forbids  us  to  believe. 

With  all  there  is  to  be  said  of  its  failure,  afore 
doomed,  we  must  be  touched  by  Naples'  desire  to 
boast  an  art  of  her  own.  Alas,  there  was  no  Ciccione, 
to  whom  Ser  Gianni  Caracciolo's  tomb  was  so  long 
attributed,  as  there  was  no  Masuccio.  At  least  was 
there  not  a  Zingaro  ?  Without  him  Neapolitan  paint- 
ing under  Anjou  and  Aragon  will  be  lost  as  Neapolitan 
sculpture  has  dissipated  with  the  illusion  of  Masuccio. 
What  a  fragile  base — the  life  of  one  man  of  the  fifteenth 
century — upon  which  to  build  a  school,  that  is  to  say, 
an  artistic  development  necessarily  accompanied  by 
other  prosperities,  also  absent  here !  Even  if  authenti- 
cated works  of  Lo  Zingaro  should  be  found,  they  would 
hardly  suffice  to  create  a  Neapolitan  school  of  paint- 
ing of  the  fifteenth  century.  It  is  a  strange  phenome- 
non that  Lo  Zingaro  had  no  posterity,  for  it  would  be 
an  injustice  to  his  memory  to  make  him  father  of  all 
the  Rib^ra  band.  The  most  remarkable  work  signed 
by  his  name  is  seen  at  the  ancient  convent  of  San  Sever- 
ino,  today  the  depository  of  the  Archives.  Twenty  fres- 
coes under  the  sombre  cloisters  represent  the  life  of 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  49 

fc  — 

Saint  Benedict.  In  spite  of  their  ruined  condition,  it 
is  incontestably  the  work  of  a  Florentine  hand  we  are 
looking  at.  We  see  it  in  the  classic  landscape  of  the 
Tuscans  with  the  background  of  hills  or  of  fine  and 
elegant  architecture  standing  upon  rocks  tinged  with 
a  blue  light,  and,  above  all,  in  the  figures  that  move 
against  this  background,  so  alive,  without  stiffness 
as  without  vulgarity,  faces  with  piercing  eyes,  half- 
mocking,  half-severe,  mouth  disdainful  and  good  at 
the  same  time,  in  short  the  physiognomy  which  makes 
the  Florentine  type  the  most  disturbing,  the  most 
desperately  difficult,  one  might  say,  of  all  schools. 
Who  then,  looking  at  these  frescoes  of  San  Severino, 
could  talk  of  an  Umbrian?  The  vigour  and  the  di- 
versity we  find  here  could  not  possibly  be  traced  back 
to  Perugino.  And  if  we  cannot  allow  the  work  to  rest 
to  the  credit  of  the  Donzelli  brothers,  whose  frescoes, 
indeed,  it  resembles  and  whom  the  most  fierce  Zingar- 
ists  will  permit  to  come  to  the  aid  of  their  hero,  then 
notwithstanding  the  Florentine  type  of  features,  we 
may  as  well  join  Signer  Salvatore  di  Giacomo  in 
attributing  it  to  a  Venetian. 

This  is  all  of  the  pictorial  that  Naples  can  offer  to 
scholar  or  traveller  up  to  the  end  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  Under  Aragon  and  the  so-called  Flemish 
influence,  we  shall  see  her  make  an  effort  in  other 
pictures,  or,  more  strictly  speaking,   present   some 


50  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

canvases.  That,  too,  was  a  movement  that  was  sud- 
denly cut  short.  In  painting,  as  in  architecture  and  in 
sculpture,  the  arrival  of  the  Baroque  forced  Naples  to 
renounce  any  artistic  brilliancy.  Robert  did  all  that 
he  could  for  painting,  as  for  all  the  arts,  and  it  should 
have  been  the  most  flourishing  of  them  all  since  the 
painters  were  not  constrained  by  the  King's  fondness 
for  the  Gothic.  The  truth  was  that  the  Angevins  had 
no  personal  ideal.  We  know  to  what  depths  painting 
fell  in  France  in  the  thirteenth  century.  Robert 
called  Giotto  to  Naples,  giving  him  full  liberty,  yet, 
beyond  his  own  work,  he  left  no  impression  here.  No 
one  seems  to  have  understood  him,  no  one  seems  to 
have  thought  of  following  in  his  footsteps.  The 
seventeenth  century  only  appreciated  him  sufficiently 
to  hasten  to  suppress  the  peril  of  comparison  found  in 
him  in  the  Castello,  in  Santa  Chiara,  in  the  Regina, 
even  in  the  Incoronata  where,  by  a  miracle,  one  chapel 
has  survived.  Is  it  his?  Are  the  important  remains 
in  the  Regina  his,  also,  or  are  they,  as  M.  Emile  Ber- 
taux  says,  the  work  of  a  Sienese,  or,  according  to 
Vasari,  are  they  by  Cavellini,  a  Roman  contemporary 
of  Giotto?  It  is  risky  to  attribute  works  to  a  painter 
upon  manner  alone:  such  good  pupils  as  Mazo  and 
Trouillebert  have  deceived  generations  on  Velasquez 
and  Corot.  The  charter  only  is  decisive.  We  have 
none  touching  the  frescoes  of  the  Incoronata,  and  the 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  51 

only  ground  upon  which  these  frescoes  can  have  been 
attributed  to  Giotto  is  that  of  the  interest  of  the  city 
of  Naples  in  doing  so,  for  the  profit  of  its  citizens. 
Look  at  the  dates.  The  paintings  of  the  Incoronata 
represent  the  wedding  of  Joan  I.  and  Louis  of  Taranto 
which  took  place  in  1345.  Giotto  died  in  1337.  But 
the  church  was  not  founded  until  1352.  If,  however, 
we  examine  the  bizarre  position  of  the  chapel  contain- 
ing the  frescoes,  a  sort  of  tribune  badly  placed  and 
awkwardly  built;  and  if  one  thinks  that  the  palace, 
belonging,  perhaps  to  Joan,  surely  to  certain  Angevins, 
was  adjoining  the  church,  it  is  easy  to  suppose  that 
Giotto's  chapel  was  a  part  of  the  palace  and  incor- 
porated into  the  church  at  a  later  day.  The  frescoes, 
then,  may  have  been  ordered  by  Robert  to  adorn  the 
apartments  of  one  of  his  children,  and  Joan  may  have 
been  married  under  them.  If  so,  we  have  only  to 
explain  why  they  should  represent  Joan's  wedding. 
But  these  decorations  treat  of  the  seven  sacraments, 
and  it  may  be  that  posterity  has  given  an  importance 
and  actuality  to  that  of  the  marriage  sacrament  not 
intended  by  the  painter.  Joan  may  even  have 
thought  it  clever  to  have  the  faces  retouched,  putting 
something  of  her  own  and  Louis's  likenesses  in  the  fea- 
tures of  the  marrying  couple.  But  is  there  any  cer- 
tainty that  any  such  resemblances  exist?  Petrarch, 
who  was  Robert's  guest  in  1343,  speaks  of  these  paint- 


52  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

ings  as  Giotto's,  bearing  testimony  to  the  side  of  the 
case  which  I  have  taken. 

But  is  there  great  need  of  making  a  case  out  of  the 
matter?  No  one  denies  that  Giotto  visited  Naples. 
It  is  not  less  certain  that  his  visit  left  no  fruitful  result. 
With  him  or  without  him,  the  Gothic  art  could  not 
flourish  in  the  land  where  Donatello  and  Brunellesco 
had  so  many  children.  In  place  of  enriching  the  land 
offered  to  it,  it  sterilized  the  country.  The  Northern 
art  was  poison  to  Southern  Italy,  paralyzing  it  at  the 
very  sources  of  its  life.  Strangers  to  the  sky  as  to  the 
traditions  of  the  land  wished  to  impose  upon  it  their 
conception  of  the  beautiful.  They  failed,  as  everyone 
fails  who  works  against  the  genius  of  a  race  and  a 
country.  The  ephemeral  brilliancy,  wonderful  and 
excellent  as  it  was,  of  the  Normans  in  Sicily,  shows 
conclusively  that  to  be  great  and  perfect  is  not  enough 
to  create  a  lasting  power.  The  power  must  be  first  of 
all  national,  that  is  to  say,  it  must  be  understood  by 
those  whose  aspiration  the  power  wishes  to  express, 
those  whom  it  is  asking  to  perpetuate  it. 

Robert  the  Wise,  son  of  Charles  II.,  called  the  Lame, 
and  grandson  of  Charles  I.  of  Anjou  and  Provence, 
mounted  the  throne  of  Naples  at  the  happiest  moment 
in  the  history  of  that  kingdom — it  was  in  the  first  de- 
cade of  the  fourteenth  century.     To  be  sure,  his  grand- 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  53 

father  had  been  obliged  to  renounce  a  large  part  of 
his  conquest  of  the  splendid  realm  of  the  Two  Sicilies. 
We  remember  that  the  Pope,  when  he  asked  Charles 
of  Anjou,  the  warlike  brother  of  the  warrior  saint, 
Louis  IX.  of  France,  to  help  him  against  the  power- 
ful Germans,  those  Hohenstaufens  who  had  inherited 
the  Sicilies  of  the  old  Norman  crusaders,  had  no  in- 
tention of  rewarding  the  aid  he  received  by  making 
an  equally  powerful  French  dominion  out  of  the 
Angevin  conquest.  Charles  had  had  no  choice  but  to 
remain  barricaded  in  the  Neapolitan  country  and  to 
abandon  Sicily  to  the  conquered  and  (by  his  own 
murder  of  Conradin)  the  extinct  Hohenstaufen's 
heir,  Manfred's  Spanish  son-in-law,  Pedro  of  Aragon. 
Thus  restricted,  the  Angevins  possessed  just  the  power 
necessary  to  serve  the  Pope  without  troubling  him. 
He  could  depend  upon  the  Kingdom  of  Naples  for  the 
assistance  indispensable  to  the  conquest  and  defence 
of  the  realm  that  the  Holy  See  was  carving  out  for 
itself  at  that  moment  when  all  the  sovereigns  about  it 
were  despoiling,  each  for  himself,  the  carcass  of  the 
Roman  Empire  of  the  Occident.  The  hardness  of  the 
times,  however,  compelled  the  Pope  to  bind  himself 
to  the  Angevin  perhaps  more  than  he  wished  to ;  and 
when  necessity  drove  the  papacy  to  abandon  Rome, 
it  sought  the  shelter  of  Provencal  Avignon  offered  by 
Charles  II.  of  Naples,  Anjou,  and  Provence.     Naples, 


54  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

as  protector  of  the  Pope,  his  host  in  France,  his  bul- 
wark in  Italy,  gained  a  prestige  that  was  without 
second,  becoming  all  powerful  in  the  Peninsula  and 
extending  its  influence  throughout  all  Christianity. 
The  Pope  understood  the  situation  perfectly.  From 
Avignon  he  insists  upon  the  Emperor  Henry  of  Luxem- 
bourg crossing  the  Alps  to  give  an  eye  to  the  way 
things  were  going,  although  the  Angevin  must  be 
allowed  to  believe  the  field  free  to  himself.  Matters 
stood  thus  when  Charles  the  Lame  died.  The  heir 
to  his  kingdom  was  his  second  son,  Robert;  but  his 
eldest  son,  who  was  dead,  had  left  a  son,  Charles 
Robert,  Caroberto  or  Caribert.  He  had  been  called  to 
the  throne  of  Hungary,  being  the  grand-nephew  on  his 
mother's  side  of  one  of  the  last  kings  of  that  country, 
besides  heir  of  his  father  who  was,  for  a  moment, 
thanks  to  his  marriage,  King  of  the  Magyars.  Cari- 
bert had  only  to  obtain  the  throne  of  Naples  to  have 
an  empire  ready  made  to  his  hand.  What  Germanic 
feudal  council  would  dare  to  refuse  to  elect  as  Emperor 
the  King  of  Hungary  and  Naples  and  protector  of  the 
Pope?  Caribert  thereupon  laid  claim  to  the  succes- 
sion to  Naples ;  and  the  Pope  followed  the  quarrel  with 
the  liveliest  interest,  knowing  that  whoever  should 
be  the  conqueror,  Henry  of  Luxembourg,  Robert,  or 
Caribert,  he  would  have  to  ask  for  all  the  prestige 
the  Church  could  bestow. 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  55 

The  descent  of  Henry  of  Luxembourg  into  Italy, 
however,  was  unfortunate  for  the  papacy,  since  it  re- 
sulted in  drawing  about  Robert,  all  the  Guelphs,  who 
had  been  somewhat  scattered  and  out  of  joint  since  the 
exodus  of  the  papacy.  That  son  of  a  foreign  race  be- 
came the  champion  of  Italian  rights;  Robert,  that 
Ghibelline  by  definition,  became  the  arbiter  of  the 
Guelphs.  And  Avignon  looked  on  with  satisfaction 
while  Robert  worked  for  the  return  to  power.  The 
successors  of  Innocent  III.  had  kept  the  attitude  taken 
by  that  Pope  against  Frederick  II.  If  some  of  them, 
like  Clement  V.  of  Avignon,  had  appealed  for  aid  to 
the  Emperor,  it  was  as  an  expedient,  not  through 
change  of  policy.  No  longer  was  empire  the  immut- 
able formula.  The  Kingdom  of  Naples  was  the  guar- 
antee of  the  division  of  the  Roman  Empire,  therefore 
the  guarantee  of  the  temporal  domain  of  the  papacy. 
The  cities  of  Italy,  also,  independent  since  the  Treaty 
of  Constance,  had  no  more  interest  than  the  Pope  in 
the  reconstruction  of  the  Empire.  So,  Robert,  King 
of  Naples,  suddenly  found  himself  in  a  situation  to 
which  his  activities  had  hitherto  been  stranger — and 
let  us  recognize  that  he  must  have  kept  a  wonderful 
eqtulibrium  in  the  course  of  the  thirty-three  years  of 
his  reign,  during  which  he  must  have  had  to  serve  the 
Pope  and  distrust  him,  hold  off  the  Emperor  without 
exciting  the  Pope  to  send  down  upon  him  other  ene- 


56  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

mies;  he  must  have  had  to  protect  Genoa  against 
Milan  while  managing  Milan  which  was  inclined  to 
disturb  the  indiscreet  French;  he  had  to  sustain 
Castruccio  against  Florence  without  letting  that 
ruin  the  Guelph  capital,  he  installed  the  Duke  of 
Athens  as  Podest^  of  Florence  without  entirely 
crushing  the  city  too  much,  and  he  kept  his  course 
clear  amid  all  these  ruses  and  intrigues,  rounded  out 
his  kingdom,  strengthened  it,  made  it  indisputably 
powerful. 

When  he  died,  in  1343,  at  the  age  of  eighty  years, 
Robert  could  render  his  testimony  of  having  done  well. 
Circumstances  had  aided  him,  no  doubt,  but  he  had 
known  how  to  profit  by  them.  He  was  not  a  great 
king,  but  a  great  politician.  He  was  called  the  Wise 
and  justly,  if  that  word  expresses  ability  rather  than 
genius.  Was  he  wise,  however,  when  he  married  his 
grandchild  Joan  (daughter  of  his  eldest  son  Charles  the 
Illustrious,  Duke  of  Calabria,  who  died  young,  and 
Marie  de  Valois)  to  Andrew  of  Hungary,  son  of  Cari- 
bert  ?  It  was  to  leave  to  his  successors  the  problem  he 
himself  had  run  foul  of  in  mounting  the  throne  when 
Caribert  came  to  dispute  the  paternal  heritage.  As 
Joan  was  his  heir,  Robert  had  thought  only  of  keeping 
the  throne  in  his  family,  perhaps  of  ending  the  old 
quarrel  between  the  Hungarians  and  the  Angevins  in 
feeding  them  both  with  the  same  cake.     But  the  pro- 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  57 

blem  could  not  fail  to  cause  anxiety  to  the  Emperor 
as  well  as  to  the  Pope. 

Joan  was  not  slow  in  reassuring  them  both.  Her 
husband,  Andrew,  had  been  seven  years  old  when  she 
married  him.  His  rights  to  the  Hungarian  throne  had 
been  ceded  to  his  brother  Louis  and  he  had  been  pro- 
claimed heir  presumptive  to  the  crown  of  Naples. 
When  Robert  died,  Andrew  gave  his  wife  to  under- 
stand that  it  was  not  as  the  husband  of  Queen  Joan, 
but  as  king  of  the  realm  of  his  grandfather  Charles  the 
Lame,  that  he  intended  to  be  master.  Joan  claimed 
her  sovereign  rights  from  her  father,  and  so  the  married 
couple  contended,  each  for  supremacy  as  if  they  were 
not  both  reigning  together.  Joan,  in  fact,  was  tired 
of  the  husband  she  had  known  from  childhood  and, 
while  Andrew  was  occupied  with  efforts  to  secure  his 
recognition  by  the  Pope  and  to  choose  his  emblem  and 
standards — a  block  and  an  axe, — Joan  ornamented  her 
pennons  with  acts  of  kindness.  Generous  of  her  fa- 
vours to  all  who  flocked  around  her,  if  only  they  would 
help  her  rid  herself  of  her  husband,  she  was  able  to 
form  an  entire  regiment  of  her  own  which  was  com- 
manded by  her  cousin,  Louis  of  Taranto,  chief  lover, 
to  whose  eyes  Joan  held  up  the  crown.  Sacha, 
Robert's  widow,  soon  withdrew  from  this  infamous 
court,  and  a  few  months  after  Robert's  death,  Andrew 
was  drawn  into  ambush  at  A  versa.     Someone  came  to 


58  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

call  him  in  the  middle  of  the  night  while  he  was  sleep- 
ing beside  Joan,  and  she,  seized  with  scruples  all  of  a 
sudden,  tried  to  prevent  him  from  rising,  but  her  weak- 
ness passed  and  she  allowed  him  to  go  into  the  next 
room  where  assassins  fell  upon  him  and  threw  him  out 
of  a  window.  But  Yseult,  Andrew's  old  nurse,  who 
had  been  watching,  saw  the  drama,  ran  out  of  the 
castle  shouting  and  calling  up  the  whole  city.  Men 
jumped  out  of  bed  to  seize  their  arms,  forming  two 
parties,  one  led  by  the  cousins  and  compatriots  of  the 
King,  the  other  marshalled  by  the  lovers  of  the  Queen, 
who  were  waiting  for  the  quarry. 

Naturally  the  affair  was  one  to  be  investigated: 
justice  should  be  done;  guilt  should  be  punished. 
Clement  VI.  undertook  the  matter  with  precaution. 
If  Joan  were  dethroned,  Naples  would  revert  to  An- 
drew's brother,  King  Louis  of  Hungary,  and  there 
would  be  the  question  of  the  Empire  opened  again. 
It  would  be  well  to  interrogate  the  accomplices  to  the 
plot  in  such  a  manner  that  they  should  not  say  too 
much.  In  fact  those  who  showed  themselves  so  cow- 
ardly as  to  talk  when  they  were  questioned  had  their 
mouths  shut  with  fishhooks. 

Yseult's  cries,  however,  were  heard  as  far  as  Hun- 
gary, reminding  Louis  that  he,  too,  was  a  grandson  of 
the  Angevin  King  Charles  the  Lame.  He  started  at 
once  for  Italy,  while  Joan  was  marrying  her  cousin 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  59 

Louis  of  Taranto,  and  he  entered  Benevento  the  nth 
of  January,  1348,  not  without  having  politely  declined 
the  interference  of  envoys  of  the  Pope  who  were  on 
hand  to  stop  him.  Joan  had  hastily  gone  to  Avignon 
six  days  before.  Louis  went  to  Aversa  to  see  the  scene 
of  the  crime,  and  his  indignation  was  such  that  he  must 
have  someone  to  punish  at  once.  There  was  Charles  of 
Durazzo,  possible  heir  to  the  throne,  since  he,  too,  was 
a  grandson  of  Charles  II. — therefore  Louis's  cousin 
as  well  as  Joan's  cousin  and  brother-in-law,  by  her 
second  marriage.  Durazzo  had  no  part  whatever  in 
the  assassination,  but  a  victim  was  wanted  without  de- 
lay, and  so  much  the  better  if  expiation  and  precaution 
were  two  birds  that  could  be  hit  by  the  same  stone. 
So  Durazzo  was  killed.  A  child  of  Andrew's  was  there 
too,  but  he  was  in  swaddling  clothes.  A  babe  in  arms 
could  not  be  accused  of  killing  his  father,  so  Louis 
contented  himself  with  sending  him  to  Hungary — in 
the  care  of  Yseult,  no  doubt.  Everything  went  like 
magic,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  plague,  perhaps 
Hungary  and  Naples  would  have  scoffed  at  geography 
in  making  one  domain.  But  the  plague  came  and 
Louis  was  more  afraid  of  it  than  he  had  been  of  Charles 
of  Durazzo.  Since  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  it  so 
easily,  he  ran  to  Barletta  where  he  embarked,  leaving 
a  few  battalions  of  his  troops  which — if  spared  by 
the  epidemic — might  be  useful  to  him  later. 


6o  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Joan,  seeing  Louis's  departure  from  the  safe  distance 
of  her  retreat,  felt  no  anxiety  herself  over  the  fever. 
The  Pope  furnished  her  the  means  to  return  as  the 
price  of  her  renunciation  of  her  rights  to  Avignon;  and 
the  Hungarians,  meantime,  sacked  her  kingdom,  steal- 
ing, violating,  burning  everything  everywhere. 

Plagues  do  not  last  forever  and,  in  1350,  Louis  re- 
turned. His  Hungarians  cried  to  be  allowed  to  go 
home — since  there  was  nothing  more  to  pillage — and 
he  consented  upon  condition  that  an  honourable  ex- 
pedient be  furnished  him.  The  Pope  thought  about  it 
and  offered  his  intervention.  He  declared  that  Joan, 
in  killing  her  husband,  had  been  the  victim  of  witch- 
craft, the  irresponsible  instrument  of  Satan,  and  he 
proclaimed  Joan  and  her  husband  Louis  of  Taranto  the 
sovereigns  of  Naples.  Louis  of  Hungary  said ' '  Amen' ' 
and  regained  his  Carpathians  with  philosophy. 

The  carnival  began  again  and  continued  until 
twenty-six  years  later,  when  Joan,  then  living  with  her 
fourth  husband,  Otho  of  Brunswick,  was  obliged,  by 
reason  of  her  age,  to  give  up  hope  or  pretension  of 
having  an  heir  to  the  throne.  Andrew's  son  was  dead 
long  since,  the  Hungarian  climate  being  unfavourable 
to  Neapolitans.  To  whom  should  the  realm  go  after 
Joan?  A  candidate  was  brought  forth  furnished  with 
all  necessary  rights,  if  not  titles :  it  was  another  Charles 
of  Durazzo,  son  of  the  innocent  victim  of  Louis  of 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  6i 

Hungary's  mighty  vengeance.  He  was  the  last 
Angevin,  belonging  both  to  Naples  and  to  Hungary. 
Educated  at  the  court  of  Budapest,  he  had  been 
nourished  in  disdain  of  Joan;  and  when  Urban  VI. — 
toward  whom  Joan  never  showed  herself  too  docile — 
invited  him  to  take  possession  of  his  heritage  before 
it  was  vacant,  Charles  did  not  blush  with  scruples. 
Joan,  seeing  that  she  was  likely  to  be  hard  pressed  by 
this  cousin  of  Durazzo  and  looking  about  her  for  help, 
called  upon  a  brother  of  Charles  V.  of  France,  as,  long 
before,  the  Pope  had  called  upon  a  brother  of  Saint 
Louis,  their  common  ancestor.  That  brother  of 
Charles  V.  was  also  a  Count  of  Anjou,  though  hardly 
of  the  first  family  of  that  name.  Joan,  daughter  of 
Marie  de  Valois,  could,  however,  call  him  cousin. 
Louis  d'Anjou  accepted  the  proposition  to  become 
Joan's  son,  and  he  hastened  to  Italy  with  an  ardour 
that  was  something  more  than  filial  towards  his  new 
mother.  It  seemed  to  him  so  unnecessary  to  wait  for 
her  death  to  become  king  that  he  broke  his  journey  at 
Rome  to  have  himself  crowned,  negotiating  the  matter 
with  the  gift  of  some  abandoned  fiefs  to  the  nephew  of 
Urban  VI.,  and  then  marched  upon  the  Queen  in  her 
capital  of  his  kingdom.  Joan  was  without  money, 
without  soldiers,  without  husband,  for  Otho  retired 
precipitately  to  Aversa,  and  her  people  were  worn  out 
with  her  almost  forty  years  of  excesses.     She  shut  her- 


62  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

self  up  in  the  Castel  dell'  Ovo  the  15th  of  July,  1381, 
but  capitulated  after  six  weeks.  Not,  however,  to 
Anjou.  Charles  of  Durazzo  had  lost  no  time  in  com- 
ing upon  the  scene  of  the  tottering  throne.  He  sent 
Joan  to  the  Castello  del  Muro  in  the  province  of  Basili- 
cata,  where,  ten  months  later,  as  she  seemed  little  in- 
clined to  die  of  her  own  accord,  he  had  her  smothered 
under  pillows. 

So  came  to  her  end  in  her  bed,  at  the  age  of  fifty,  one 
of  the  most  generous  daughters  of  man  ever  favoured 
by  royal  crown. 

Who  should  succeed  her,  Charles  of  Durazzo  or 
Louis  of  Anjou?  Charles  avoided  combat,  letting  the 
Angevin  army  melt  away  from  that  unnatural  son  their 
leader  until  Louis  of  Anjou  himself  died  at  Bari.  The 
Pope,  who  could  allow  matters  to  take  their  course 
when  there  were  two  disputants  to  the  throne,  now 
aroused  himself  to  encourage  the  partisans  left  on  the 
side  of  the  Angevins,  then  came  himself  to  direct 
operations,  perhaps?  No,  but  because  of  his  tender- 
ness for  his  own  nephew,  Butillo,  who  challenges  the 
attention  of  all  the  Neapolitans  anxious  to  have  a 
master  who  showed  how  much  of  a  man  he  was  by 
violating  all  women  in  religious  orders  whom  he  came 
across.  The  Pope  sighed  when  complaint  of  such 
conduct  was  carried  to  him,  and  murmured,  "It  is 
the  fire  of  youth!"     Charles  of  Durazzo  pressed  the 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  63 

indulgent  Pope  as  hard  as  he  could,  until  at  length  he 
had  him  under  siege  in  the  Castello  di  Nocera,  His 
Eminence  obstinately  refusing  to  come  out  of  it  be- 
cause he  had  promised  it  to  Butillo.  But,  not  wish- 
ing to  stay  in  it  the  rest  of  his  life,  he  called  upon  the 
Genoese  to  come  to  his  aid.  They  delivered  him  from 
his  enemy  by  carrying  him  away,  leaving  Charles  III. 
of  Naples  victor  on  the  field.  It  was  a  field  so  gone 
to  rack  and  ruin,  however,  that  it  did  not  seem  worth 
having  after  all,  and,  when,  on  the  14th  of  September, 
1385,  an  embassy  arrived  from  Hungary  begging  him  to 
rescue  the  crown  of  that  realm  which  had  fallen  to  the 
female  line  and  upon  the  head  of  a  certain  Marie, 
daughter  of  old  Louis,  Charles,  leaving  Naples  to  the 
regency  of  his  wife  Marguerite,  set  out  for  Hungary 
where,  in  less  than  a  year  after  his  arrival,  he  was  as- 
sassinated by  that  certain  Marie  and  her  mother. 

The  widow  of  Charles  III.  governed  the  Kingdom  of 
Naples  as  regent  in  the  name  of  her  son  Ladislaus,  ten 
years  old,  with  a  covetous  nobility  gathered  around 
them.  Another  faction  formed  around  the  son  of 
Louis  of  Anjou  whom  some  even  proclaimed  as  Louis 
II.  And  as  Naples  had  two  kings,  so  had  Rome  two 
popes.  The  two  parties  fought,  mingled,  and  fell 
apart,  passing  from  one  king  to  the  other  according 
to  the  gifts  and  promises  received  from  them.  And 
the  popes  shifted  in  like  manner.     It  seemed,  however, 


64  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

that  Ladislaus  offered  the  better  guarantee  to  the 
Neapolitan  barons,  as  he  grew  in  ardour,  in  duplicity, 
and  in  audacity.  When  he  was  fourteen  years  old, 
in  1389,  he  married  Constance  of  Clermont,  daughter 
of  a  Sicilian,  beautiful,  rich,  good,  and  in  love  with  her 
husband.  Ladislaus,  however,  soon  decided  that  he 
might  make  a  more  profitable  alliance,  obtained  from 
one  of  the  two  popes  an  annulment  of  the  marriage, 
and  one  Sunday  morning,  after  Mass,  Constance, 
without  forewarning,  heard  the  Bishop  of  Gaeta  read 
the  bull  of  divorce.  She  was  thrown  into  the  depths 
of  a  castle  from  which,  three  years  later,  she  was 
dragged  to  the  altar  and  married  to  Andrew  of  Capua; 
throwing  herself  upon  the  steps,  Constance  cried: 
"Count  Andrew,  you  may  consider  yourself  the  most 
fortunate  knight  of  the  kingdom;  you  are  going  to 
have  for  your  mistress  the  legitimate  wife  of  your 
King!" 

Ladislaus,  who  married  Marie  of  Cypress,  continued 
to  defend  his  property  with  so  much  skill  and  in  so 
many  details  that  we  must  give  up  the  task  of  follow- 
ing him.  Sometimes  he  was  with  the  Pope  at  Avignon, 
sometimes  in  Rome,  sometimes  he  was  alone;  always 
alert  for  his  interests  at  the  moment,  according  to  the 
attitude  of  Louis  of  Anjou,  or  yielding  to  his  caprice 
which  led  him,  one  day,  to  make  a  trip  to  Rome  with 
his  army  from  whence  he  set  forth  on  his  conquest  of 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  65 

the  pontifical  domain.  He  tried  to  constrain  Flor- 
ence into  recognizing  him  as  master.  Florence  refused 
to  do  so.  "What  troops  have  you  to  oppose  me?" 
Ladislaus  asked.     "Your  own!"  replied  Valori. 

That  admirable  answer  contained  all  the  philosophy 
of  those  senseless  wars.  Ladislaus  drew  back  in  fear  of 
the  Florentine  gold,  but  Florence  called  Louis  II.  of 
Anjou  whom  the  Council  of  Pisa  invested  with  the 
rights  and  title  of  King  of  Naples.  The  Pope,  to  curry 
favour  with  the  Pretender,  and,  also,  because  it  cost 
him  nothing,  added  Sicily  to  the  kingdom.  Louis, 
however,  found  it  necessary  to  retire  to  Provence  to 
recruit  troops  in  order  to  effect  his  occupation  of  the 
lands  given  him.  His  army  was  ready  in  141 1,  need- 
ing only  to  be  paid.  But  the  Florentines,  to  whom  he 
turned,  were  tired  of  the  eternal  role  of  the  milch  cow 
which  they  had  been  playing  so  long,  for  in  the  fif- 
teenth century  Florence  was  the  great  cashier  of  Eu- 
rope. They  preferred  to  make  peace  with  Ladislaus, 
and  Louis  returned  to  Provence,  never  again  venturing 
to  Italy. 

Reconciliations  being  in  order,  Ladislaus  made  peace 
with  the  Pope.  Three  months  later,  he  again  threw 
himself  upon  Rome,  repeated  his  menace  against 
Florence,  and  renewed  his  conquest  of  the  patrimony. 
Perhaps  he  would  have  shown  the  world  what  a  prince 
could  make  for  himself  out  of  the  great  schism,  if  he 


66  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

had  carried  himself  with  a  little  more  spirit,  or  if  he 
had  not  died  suddenly,  the  first  known  victim  of  the 
"Neapolitan  fever."  His  exploits  aside,  is  not  that 
demise  enough  to  yield  to  Ladislaus  a  place  in  history? 

His  sole  heir  was  his  sister  Joan,  widow  of  the  Duke 
of  Austria.  Forty-five  years  of  age  when  the  crown 
fell  to  her,  Joan  was  then  giving  all  her  favours  to 
a  young  man  of  twenty-five  years,  count,  seneschal, 
camerlingo,  not  to  mention  other  minor  titles  and  pre- 
bends. Pandolfo  Alopo  was  much  at  his  ease  in  all 
his  functions  in  spite  of  Jacques  de  Bourbon  whom 
Joan  married  to  protect  her  against  a  third  Louis 
d'Anjou.  By  way  of  guarantee  against  the  husband, 
Alopo  tried  to  make  use  of  a  certain  Sforza,  who  had 
been  thrown  into  prison  by  Ladislaus.  But  they  could 
not  come  to  terms  and  Sforza  returned  to  his  cell. 
The  husband  triumphed,  arrested  Alopo,  made  him 
avow  his  relations  with  Joan,  and  killed  him  in 
ignominious  torture.  Joan  was  treated  almost  as 
severely  and  sequestered.  Her  fate  aroused  some 
compassion,  and  one  holiday,  the  13th  of  September, 
1416,  when  she  appeared  before  the  populace,  pale, 
emaciated,  with  the  air  of  a  martyr,  there  was  a  sud- 
den call  to  arms  in  her  favour.  Jacques  sought  refuge 
in  the  Castel  dell'  Ovo  and  was  not  released  until  he 
had  restored  his  wife  to  power. 

The  first  use  Joan  made  of  her  rights  was  to  replace 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  67 

Alopo  with  Gianni  Caraccioli,  whose  tomb  we  have 
seen  in  Carbonara.  Caraccioli  was  a  politician,  keen 
to  see  that  some  degree  of  order  must  be  put  into 
the  anarchy  into  which  the  court  was  plunged.  He 
released  Sforza,  giving  him  Troia.  He  restored  Rome 
to  the  Pope  in  exchange  for  Joan's  coronation  and  he 
threw  Jacques  across  the  frontier,  where  he  hid  him- 
self in  the  Franciscan  habit  in  which  he  died.  But  he 
was  counting  without  his  Sforza.  Keener  on  venge- 
ance for  his  long  imprisonment  than  on  gratitude  for 
his  release,  Sforza  began  at  once  to  intrigue  against 
Naples.  He  divined  the  desire  of  Pope  Martin  V.  to 
provide  a  rich  establishment  for  his  nephew,  Antonio 
Colonna  on  the  one  hand  and,  on  the  other,  he  called 
Louis  III.  d'Anjou  to  come,  install  himself  at  Aversa, 
and  fight  Joan  and  Caraccioli.  Meantime  Martin  V.^ 
playing  the  disinterested,  offered  to  arbitrate  while 
he  excited  Alfonso  V.  of  Aragon  and  Sicily  with  his 
remarks  about  Joan,  the  childless  queen,  who  surely 
would  leave  her  kingdom  to  whatever  gallant  friend 
should  aid  her  against  Sforza  and  Anjou.  "Look!" 
exclaimed  the  Holy  Father,  "by  you  and  for  you  will 
be  re-established  at  length  the  beautiful  kingdom  of  the 
Two  Sicilies,  founded  by  the  Normans  from  whom  you 
are  descended  through  Manfred." 

Joan,  prevailed  upon  by  Martin's  counsels,  adopts 
Alfonso,    whereupon  opens    the    great    struggle  be- 


68  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

tween  Aragon  and  Anjou.  Caraccioli  does  not  like 
the  new  son  of  his  dear  friend  Joan  and  induces  her  to 
make  a  combination  against  him  with  Louis  of  Anjou. 
The  Pope,  too,  changes  sides,  and  even  Sforza  joins 
them,  all  for  Louis  III.  Joan  has  her  fortress,  Alfon- 
so his,  from  which  they  spy  on  each  other.  Alfonso 
succeeds  in  taking  Caraccioli,  but  Joan  gives  him  the 
slip,  thanks  to  Sforza  who  takes  her  to  Aversa.  There 
she  revokes  her  adoption  of  Alfonso  in  favour  of 
Louis  III.,  who,  thinking  himself  necessary,  becomes 
insolent.  Caraccioli,  a  man  of  resources,  offers  his 
support  to  Alfonso,  who,  from  Castile  whither  he  has 
been  called  meantime,  sends  out  his  brother  Dom 
Pedro.  The  seesaw  is  now  tipped  in  favour  of 
Caraccioli,  who,  for  his  own  part,  is  tired  of  his  old 
mistress,  now  sixty  years  of  age.  He  deceives  her 
outrageously  and  is  assassinated  at  her  orders  on  the 
17th  of  August,  1432. 

Was  all  that  helping  the  affairs  of  Louis  III.? 
Caraccioli  had  exiled  him  to  Cosenza,  and  the  favour- 
ites who  surrounded  Joan  II.,  though,  perhaps  not  too 
indulgent  toward  all  the  old  Queen  might  desire,  had 
no  wish  to  see  Louis  return  amongst  them.  To  keep 
him  occupied,  they  sent  him  to  make  war  on  Orsini 
and  he  died  at  once  in  the  course  of  his  march  on  the 
14th  of  November,  1434.  Some  months  later,  Joan, 
too,  breathed  her  last,  and,  upon  opening  her  will,  it 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  GOTHIC  69 

was  found  that  she  left  her  kingdom  to  Ren^  d'Anjou, 
Louis's  brother.  Was  Alfonso  of  Aragon  going  to 
allow  himself  to  be  ousted  in  that  manner?  We  shall 
soon  see. 


A^ 


^xi^i 


'<; 


«       ip«    100    }0»   ^t 

rAnos 


TKird  Day 

THE  FAILURE  OF  THE 
RENAISSANCE 

Ara^onian   Naples 

PON  the  hill  against  which  stands  the 
old  University,  and  whose  culminating 
point  is  the  convent  of  San  Marcellino, 
between  San  Giovanni  Maggiore  and 
Capuano,  Angevine  Naples  weaves  the 
network  of  its  little  streets,  chief  of  which  is  the 
Strada  de'Tribunali.  From  this  earlier  base,  Aragonian 

70 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  71 

Naples  extends  towards  the  east  and  the  south,  that 
is  to  say,  it  descends  the  hill  and  stretches  along  the 
sea,  where  the  Castel  Nuovo  forms  its  centre.  If  we 
wish  to  know  more  of  the  differences  that  existed 
between  Palasopolis  and  Neapolis,  perhaps  the  changes 
in  Naples  of  the  fifteenth  century  will  give  us  a  fair 
idea  of  them. 

Castel  Nuovo  is  not  purely  Aragonian.  It  had  been 
built  by  Charles  I.  of  Anjou,  between  1270  and  1280, 
and  served  as  an  advance  fortress,  guarding  the  sea. 
Robert  utilized  it  for  his  entertainments.  Giotto 
decorated  it.  Petrarch  was  crowned  there.  The 
Angevin  royal  residence,  however,  the  centre  of  life, 
was  at  Capuano.  It  was  only  under  Aragon  that  Cas- 
tel Nuovo  became  the  royal  castle,  replaced,  in  1600, 
by  the  present  royal  palace,  work  of  Fontana,  the 
Count  de  Lemos  then  being  Viceroy. 

Then,  when  Alfonso  of  Aragon  had  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  conquering  the  realm  of  his  Norman  ances- 
tors, and  of  his  foster-mother  Jeanne  II.,  his  first  care 
was  to  guarantee  the  freedom  of  the  sea.  Sicily  and 
Spain  were  far  too  useful  to  him  for  him  to  neglect 
this  precaution.  From  1442  until  1458  Castel  Nuovo 
was  altered,  much  enlarged,  and  decorated.  "We  may 
inquire  what  remains  of  the  original  plan,  the  work  of 
the  two  Frenchmen,  Pierre  de  Chaul  and  Angicourt — 
all  the  external  structure,  perhaps,  which  is  after  the 


72  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

manner  of  the  fortified  chateaux  of  the  north,  with 
towers  and  bastions.  Alfonso  found  a  strong  fortress 
which  progress  in  the  art  of  war  had  not  yet  rendered 
useless.  He  could  and  did  modify  certain  parts  of  it 
only,  in  keeping  with  the  demands  of  its  enlarged  pur- 
pose. In  any  event,  as  it  was  in  the  fifteenth  century 
so  it  appears  today.  The  proof  of  this  is  found  in  a 
picture  of  the  Florentine  school,  a  picture  often  copied. 
It  shows  the  arrival  of  Laurent  de  Medicis  at  Naples, 
in  1479.  Behind  the  fortified  harbour,  the  round 
towers  and  fiat  walls  today  surround  a  great  square, 
and  border  on  the  garden  of  the  royal  palace.  The 
soldiers  of  the  King  of  Savoy  are  quartered  there. 
Without  taxing  the  imagination,  one  can  easily  pictiire 
this  fortress.  As  it  is  today,  in  its  disorder  and  filth, 
it  presents  little  contrast  to  its  condition  of  other  days. 
One  wing  is  occupied  by  the  chapel  of  Santa  Barbara. 
Above  the  door  of  this  chapel  stands  an  image  of  the 
Virgin,  said  to  have  been  chiselled  by  Laurana.  Most 
probably  it  was  he,  too,  who  wrought  the  Femme 
Inconnue  of  the  Louvre,  which  has  long  been  con- 
sidered the  work  of  Donatello;  its  rude  realism 
refutes  the  idea  of  such  paternity.  Among  the  vast 
halls  is  one  in  Gothic  style  and  there  are  dozens  of  bed- 
rooms, the  place  having  something  analogous  to  the 
Palace  of  the  Popes  at  Avignon,  which  also  now  serves 
as  barracks,  with  the  difference  that  the  Castel  Nuovo 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  73 

has  always  been  first  of  all  a  military  building.  What 
is  there  in  it  more  interesting  than  the  triumphal  gate  f 
Between  two  towers  that  hold  it  close,  it  rises  above  all 
the  walls  and  palisades,  a  jet  of  joy,  pride,  and  perfect 
taste.  In  the  midst  of  the  fashionable  quarter  of 
modem  Naples,  opposite  the  most  frequented  novelty 
shop  of  the  city,  Alfonso's  triumph  reminds  all 
generations  of  a  great  king  who  covUd  no  more  fix  his 
race  upon  his  throne  than  could  Robert  of  Anjou. 
The  gate  is  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  the  Italian 
Renaissance.  Although  Alfonso  allowed  nothing  to 
remain  but  the  shell  of  the  Angevin  castle  built  by 
Frenchmen  and  decorated  by  Giotto,  his  own  work 
imposed  upon  the  savages  sufficient  respect  of  the 
Baroque,  so  that  today  it  may  call  forth  oiu*  unre- 
served admiration.  Under  this  arch,  flanked  by  four 
coltunns,  Alfonso  made  his  entrance  into  his  good 
city  upon  a  dais  drawn  by  two  horses.  The  arch  is 
surmounted  by  another  and  smaller  one,  carrying 
four  statues  of  saints  in  shell  niches,  the  whole  crowned 
by  a  pediment  of  incomparable  beauty  which  finishes, 
and  gives  significance  to,  the  entire  work. 

This  time,  does  it  not  seem  to  you  that  the  Renais- 
sance was  able  to  do  what  the  Gothic  could  not :  that  is 
plant  itself  in  Naples  and  with  such  success  that 
Alfonso  and  his  children  would  have  no  occasion  to 
ask  of  Italy  what  she  could  not  give?    Although  the 


74  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Gothic,  for  ethnical  reasons,  could  not  endure,  the  art 
of  the  Renaissance  was  to  exist  and  perpetuate  itself 
in  virtue  of  the  same  reasons.  Did  Pietro  di  Mar- 
tino,  in  raising  this  triumphal  arch,  and  Giuliano  da 
Maiano,  in  casting  these  doors,  express  the  Neapolitan 
impulse  in  the  Italian  awakening?  They  did  this 
work  in  the  most  brilliant  epoch  of  Italy,  perhaps,  at 
any  rate,  that  in  which  the  sap  was  rising  with  the 
most  vigour.  During  the  reign  of  the  family  of  Ara- 
gon  in  Naples,  there  were  at  work  at  Florence,  at 
Venice,  in  Umbria,  at  Padua,  at  Ferrara,  and  at 
Bologna  these  architects:  Michelozzo,  Alberti,  Rossel- 
lino,  Sangallo,  Desiderio,  Benedetto  da  Maiano;  these 
sculptors:  Luca  della  Robbia,  Agostino  di  Ducio, 
Pollajuolo,  Verrocchio,  Mino  da  Fiesole,  Civitali; 
these  painters:  Filippo  Lippi,  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  Filip- 
pino  Lippi,  Rosselli,  Ghirlandajo,  Lorenzo  di  Credi, 
Piero  della  Francesca,  Perugino,  Pinturrichio,  Sig- 
norelli,  Mantegna,  Cossa,  Costa,  Giovanni  Bellini. 
.  .  .  What  a  company!  Fortunate  Naples  which 
had  but  to  gather  the  fruits  of  the  Giottos,  the  Brunel- 
lescos,  and  the  Donatellos !  At  the  call  of  Alfonso  or 
under  the  impulse  of  his  children,  the  city  had  only 
to  blossom  with  all  the  arts  arrived  at  their  perfection. 
The  phalanx  had  but  to  enter  the  gate  of  Castel  Nuovo 
and  spread  throughout  the  city.  Let  us  follow  their 
footsteps  and  look  for  the  wonders  they  have  left. 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  75 

Painting:  Beyond  certain  pictures  foreign  to 
Southern  Italy,  such  as  the  Filippino  Lippi  and  the 
Sebastian©  del  Piombo  of  the  Palazzo  Sant'  Angelo, 
we  find  nothing.  An  epoch  without  painting!  It  is 
as  inconceivable  as,  for  a  long  time,  France  without  a 
king  was  inconceivable.  Do  you  remember,  at  Ver- 
sailles, the  series  of  the  kings  of  France  from  the  time 
of  the  Chevelu  ?  Not  one  is  missing,  not  a  day  is  lost. 
It  was  absolutely  necessary  for  the  order  and  clear- 
ness demanded  by  simple  souls.  Yet,  look  here!  A 
hundred  years  and  those  hundred  years  without  paint- 
ing !  Can  it  be  believed  ?  Nothing  to  bind  the  Gothic 
period  to  the  Renaissance?  Nothing  to  correspond 
on  the  side  of  painting  to  the  side  of  sculpture  ?  What 
would  become  of  the  history  of  art  if  we  had  to  insert 
a  blank  page?  Oh,  that  was  when  the  Flemish- 
Neapolitan  school  was  born !  Certain  it  is  that  in  the 
time  of  Alfonso  relations  existed  between  Flanders 
and  the  Kingdom  of  Naples,  principally  in  Sicily. 
The  Museiun  and  private  collections  in  Palermo  bear 
testimony  to  that.  Even  though  some  people  still 
deny  it,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  Antonello  of 
Messina  was  in  Flanders,  and  no  one  questions  the 
evidence  of  what  he  learned  there  and  what  others 
learned  of  him  or  of  the  pictures  revealing  the  merits  of 
those  lessons.  But  a  school  ?  Where  is  it  ?  There  is, 
of  course,  in  San  Pietro  Martiro  a  Legend  of  Saint 


76  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Vincent,  in  San  Domenico  a  Christ  Bearing  the  Cross,  a 
Descent  from  the  Cross,  a.n  Adoration  of  the  Kings,  and  a 
Saint  Jerome,  another  Adoration  at  the  Nuovo,  besides 
two  other  pictures  in  San  Severino.  Of  works,  done 
in  the  Flemish  manner,  one  only  had  proofs  of  author- 
ship :  the  Saint  Michael  by  Simone  Papa  in  the  Museum. 
The  others  are  called  somewhat  hastily  and  gratui- 
tously of  the  Flemish-Neapolitan  school.  If  we 
remember  that  for  a  long  time  the  Saint  Jerome  and 
even  the  Adoration  in  the  Nuovo  were  attributed  to 
Van  Eyck,  does  it  not  seem  probable  that  all  of  these 
are  Flemish  works  that  found  their  way  into  Sicily, 
perhaps  following  Antonello,  if  indeed  it  was  not  upon 
seeing  them  that  Antonello  was  impelled  to  visit 
Flanders?  Commerce  brought  in  others,  too,  for 
pictures  often  travelled  in  the  strong  boxes  of  the 
merchants.  At  any  rate,  it  is  too  much  to  give  the 
title  of  a  school  to  a  few  painters  somewhat  influenced 
by  Flemish  painting.  There  were  not  enough  of  them 
and  they  copied  too  closely,  since  their  work  was  taken 
for  Van  Eyck's.  Of  what  we  call  painting  when  we 
think  of  Rome,  of  Florence,  of  Venice — of  Italy,  in 
fact,  Naples  has  nothing. 

Architecture:  After  the  Nuovo,  the  church  and 
convent  of  Monte  Oliveto  comes  first  in  Neapolitan 
buildings.  They  were  long  believed  to  be  the  work 
of  Ciccione;  but  Ciccione  existed  even  less  than  the 


AHnari  Alinari 

liumphal  Arch  of  Alfonso  d'Aragon,         Detail  of  the  Triumphal  Arch  of 

Alfonso  d'  Aragon 


Castel  Nuovo,  Naples 


Alinari 


Castel  Nuovo,  Naples 


Alinari 

Piazza  di  San  Domenico  Maggiore,  with 
the  Church  and  Obelisk,  Naples 


Interior  of  the  Church  of  Santa  Restituta,  Naples 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  77 

Flemish-Neapolitan  school  of  painting.  Anyway,  the 
work  was  begun  under  Anjou,  in  141 1,  and  continued 
under  Aragon  in  the  style  of  the  Renaissance.  The 
church  is  a  basilica  with  a  ceiling,  somewhat  spoiled 
under  the  viceroys,  yet  keeping  its  sombre  beauty 
and  worthy  of  the  works  it  encloses  and  which  we  shall 
soon  see.  In  1464,  the  Palazzo  Cuomo  was  built  in  the 
primitive  style  of  a  Tuscan  palace,  the  work  of  a  Flor- 
entine, and  sacrificed  in  our  own  time  to  the  Strada  del 
Duomo.  In  1484,  the  Porta  Capuana  was  built  and 
the  Castel  del  Carmine,  the  first  by  Giuliano  da  Mai- 
ano,  is  in  the  same  style  as  the  Trixmiphal  Arch  of  the 
Nuovo,  but  ornamented  in  the  sixteenth  century  in 
honour  of  Charles  V.;  the  second  was  completely  re- 
built after  the  failure  of  the  Due  de  Gtdse  to  whom  it 
had  served  as  a  retreat.  Two  other  notable  palaces 
are  the  Galbiati  upon  the  Piazza  San  Domenico  and 
the  Gravina,  the  present  post-office,  with  rusticated 
base  and  magnificent  Corinthian  pilasters.  It  would 
be  fair,  also,  to  leave  to  the  Renaissance  the  Palazzo 
San  Angelo,  awkwardly  reconstructed,  like  the  Gra- 
vina. In  1482,  Pontano  ordered  the  building  of  San 
Giovanni  Evangelista.  Soon  after  that  Santa  Maria 
Nuova  was  restored,  the  Incoronata  was  built,  and, 
at  length,  Alfonso  II.,  after  the  earthquake,  in 
1485,  undertook  the  reconstruction  of  the  Duomo, 
which  was  again  made  over  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 


78  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

tiiry.     That  is  all  of  the  Renaissance  architecture  of 
Naples. 

If  you  would  like  to  see  just  how  little  the  Baroque 
art  is  worth  compared  to  its  predecessors,  go  to  the 
Duomo.  Pass  by  a  door  in  the  left  aisle,  into  Con- 
stantine's  ancient  basilica  of  Santa  Restituta,  which, 
mutilated  as  it  is,  remains  the  purest  wonder  of  Naples. 
Two  rows  of  columns  are  nothing — they  are  every- 
thing! Two  rows  of  pure,  warm  columns  in  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore  or  in  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli  in  Rome 
awaken  emotion  in  the  least  sentimental  observers, 
the  emotion  aroused  by  old  and  exiled  things,  lost, 
strangers  to  all  that  surrounds  them,  standing  out 
modestly  from  the  luxury  that  would  overpower  them. 
In  a  comer  of  the  great  courtyard  which  Santa  Resti- 
tuta has  become,  open  a  certain  door.  You  are  in  San 
Giovanni  in  Fonte,  the  old  baptistry  dating  from  the 
sixth  century,  low,  massive,  bathed  with  the  finest 
grey  light,  with  a  grand  strength,  an  impressive  force, 
majestic  in  its  mystery,  only  equalled  at  Venice  in 
the  Zeno  Chapel,  and  in  the  old  Duomo  at  Brescia. 
Go  down  into  the  crypt,  dating  from  1492,  small 
subterranean  basilica  with  nave  and  aisles  equal, 
with  smooth  columns  and  charming  capitals  of  the 
Corinthian  acanthus  supporting  the  Ionic  lobe. 
Then,  if  you  must,  go  up  again  into  the  Baroque 
church — no,  not  even  Baroque,  but  where  everything 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  79 

mingles,  mixes,  bangs  together,  disproportionate,  too 
large,  too  little  also,  for  so  many  things  and  for  so  few. 
After  that,  go  into  the  chapel  of  Saint  Januarius — the 
venerated  San  Gennaro  of  the  Neapolitans — and  look 
at  the  four  pictures  of  Domenichino.  Instantly  all  dis- 
appears except  the  basilica,  the  fonts,  the  crypt,  and 
the  great  window !  In  spite  of  the  obstacles  accimiu- 
lated  between  them,  the  sparkling  mass  of  blinding 
riches  surrounding  one,  the  real  beauties  stand  united 
forever,  and  the  last  witnesses  for  antiquity  murmur 
words  sweet  to  the  ear  in  behalf  of  the  unpardonable 
Zampieri,  assassinated  for  having  dared  Naples  in  the 
seventeenth  century  by  being  simple,  true,  firm;  and 
the  murmured  words  of  fraternity  are  echoed  through 
the  crypt. 

Sculpture:  Tombs,  nothing  but  tombs,  and  many  of 
them.  Some  of  them  are  remarkable  and  worthy  of 
the  epoch  that  gave  them  being.  They  are  Florentine. 
One  sees  some  of  them  at  the  Duomo  whose  only 
merits,  as  Burckhardt  says  truly,  are  in  associations 
and  contrasts.  There  are  many  to  be  seen  in  San 
Giovanni  a  Carbonara  where  the  Caraccioli  family  are 
gathered  about  their  ancestor,  Ser  Gianni,  Joan  II. 's 
lover  who  died  in  her  service. 

The  most  beautiful  tomb  in  Naples,  perhaps,  that 
of  Cardinal  Brancaccio  in  Sant'  Angelo  a  Nilo,  is  one  of 
the  purest  and  noblest  results  of  the  collaboration  of 


80  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Michelozzo  and  Donatello.  Neither  Venice  nor  Flor- 
ence possesses  anything  that  surpasses  the  grandeur  of 
the  three  figures  supporting  the  sarcophagus,  that  on 
the  right,  especially,  with  the  band  upon  the  curling 
hair  shading  a  face  unequalled  in  vigour  and  tender- 
ness, and  the  two  angels  raising  the  curtain  in  marble 
to  show  the  statue  of  the  Cardinal  in  the  sleep  of  death, 
a  figure  whose  realism  is  the  signature  of  Donatello. 
Other  tombs,  by  Baboccio,  are  in  the  Duomo  and  in 
San  Lorenzo.  Last,  but  not  least,  in  Sant*  Anna  dei 
Lombardi,  as  the  church  of  Monte  Oliveto  is  usually 
called,  are  two  of  the  most  perfect  monuments  of  the 
Renaissance:  an  altar  and  a  tomb,  by  Rossellino.  The 
altar  is  such  a  strong  work  and  the  bas-reliefs  repre- 
senting the  Adoration  of  the  Shepherds  is  so  true  that 
for  a  long  time  both  were  attributed  to  Donatello, 
which  says  everything  for  them.  But  Donatello 
never  came  to  Naples.  It  was  at  Pisa  that  he  made 
the  mausoleum  of  Cardinal  Brancaccio  in  Sant' 
Angelo  a  Nilo.  As  for  the  mausoleum  here  in  the 
Lombardi,  like  the  altar,  it  is  Rossellino's.  He  who 
knows  its  repetition,  the  tomb  of  the  Cardinal  of 
Portugal  at  San  Miniato,  Florence,  has  nothing  to 
learn  of  this  one.  Aside  from  that  resemblance,  which 
proclaims  a  little  too  loudly  the  enterprising  workman 
filling  his  orders,  here  stands  one  of  the  most  charming 
expressions  of  the  Renaissance.     What  a  joy  to  meet 


Alinari 

.'omb  of  King  Ladislaus,  Church  of 
?an  Giovanni  a  Carbonara,  Naples 


Alinari 
Monument  of  Maria  of  Aragon, 
Monte  Oliveto,  Naples 


Alinari 


Alinari 


mb  of  Cardinal  Rinaldo  Brancaccio,     Detail  of  Tomb  of  Cardinal  Rinaldo 
urch  of  Sant'  Angelo  a  Nilo.  NanI*»E  -Rram-arri,^ 


Brancaccio 


Alinari 


Interior  of  the  Cathedral  of  Naples 


Alinai 


The  Sacristy  of  the  Church  of  San  Domenico  Maggiore,  Naples 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  8l 

it  in  Baroque  Naples!  It  and  Domenichino's  work 
are  the  happiest  objects  of  art  in  the  city.  It  effaces 
everything  even,  in  the  same  church,  Mazzoni's 
terra-cotta  statues  of  which  Michelangelo  said,  mock- 
ingly, no  doubt,  "If  this  earth  could  become  marble, 
woe  to  the  statues  of  antiquity!"  One  has  plenty  of 
leisure  to  study  Mazzoni  at  Modena.  At  Naples  one 
is  amused  and  astonished,  troubled,  even,  by  his  anec- 
dote and  his  precision :  the  Mary  Magdalen  is  Lucrezia 
d'Alagno  loved  by  Alfonso;  the  Saint  John  is  Alfon- 
so; the  Christ  his  son  Ferdinand;  the  Nicodemus  is 
Pontano;  and  the  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  Sannazaro. 
One  may  be  surprised  at  times,  but  never  moved  by 
them. 

That  is  all  the  sculpture.  Let  us  forget  nothing  of 
importance.  At  the  Museum  we  shall  see  a  horse's 
head  brought  from  the  Palazzo  Caraffa.  It  is  in 
bronze  and  colossal,  so  beautiful,  so  masterly  that  the 
Neapolitans  in  their  pride  over  it  used  to  call  it  an 
antique.     It  is  by  Donatello. 

That  is  really  all.  In  the  sacristy  of  San  Domenico 
Maggiore  upon  two  rows  of  shelves  are  sarcophagi 
covered  with  faded  velvet  and  ornamented  with  such 
emblems  as  swords  or  coats-of-arms.  They  have  the 
form  of  trunks  and  stand  in  a  line  as  if  waiting  to  be 
shipped.  Here  lie  the  Aragonian  kings,  their  wives, 
and  their  children.     What  a  true  knowledge  of  self! 

6 


82  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Come  as  conquerors,  they  always  held  themselves 
ready  to  leave,  bundles  made  up,  their  deaths  accom- 
plished. Did  they  divine  that  this  land  could  never 
give  them  that  which  they  never  gave  it:  not 
grandeur  nor  prosperity  nor  happiness?  In  spite  of 
certain  efforts  made  by  Alfonso  and  his  children, 
Naples  refused  to  be  embraced  by  the  Aragons.  All 
the  works  brought  together  here  by  that  dynasty,  with 
the  exception  of  that  of  Laurana  and  of  one  or  two 
strangers,  who,  no  more  than  Giotto  and  the  pupils  of 
Giovanni  Pisano,  were  able  to  teach  Neapolitan  hands 
the  use  of  the  brush,  the  chisel,  or  the  square. 

"As  a  result  of  the  multiplicity  of  races  that  emi- 
gration from  every  corner  of  Europe  has  brought  to 
Naples,  one  finds  it  extremely  difficult  to  give  a 
physiognomy  that  is  common,  local,  to  the  works  of 
art  one  encounters  at  every  step." 

Who  said  this?  Signore  Salvatore  di  Giacomo 
whose  poetic  work  expresses  the  soul  of  Naples.  The 
entire  page  is  one  of  the  most  enlightening  we  can  read, 
so  let  us  finish  it : 

"  Many  examples  cannot  be  found  of  a  national  art, 
an  art  that  might  be  called  Neapolitan.  According  to 
the  masters  of  the  moment,  Naples  saw  the  expression 
of  divers  foreign  styles  so  that  one  is  obliged  to  bring 
up  side  by  side  the  political  history  and  the  history  of 
the  wonderful  things  that  painting,  architecture,  and 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  83 

sculpture  have  left  here  in  abundance  in  the  course  of 
four  or  five  centuries. 

"We  are  considering  the  epoch  when  there  was  not  a 
little  city  in  Italy,  not  a  modest  hill  town  whose  civic 
impulse  did  not  enrich  it  with  its  creations,  as  one  can 
still  see  in  Umbria,  in  Tuscany,  in  Lombardy,  in 
Venetia,  thus  furnishing  posterity  with  imperishable 
testimony  of  the  proud  and  lofty  merit  of  the  people. 
Do  we  not  know  that  in  that  remarkable  epoch  Naples 
did  not  know  how  to  or  would  not  use  her  own  activity 
for  her  benefit  as  if  she  were  refusing  to  take  part  in  an 
unequal  struggle?  From  the  end  of  the  Renaissance 
to  the  seventeenth  century  and  to  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, it  is  true,  Naples  shook  off  this  disconcerting 
inertia,  and  at  that  period  only  did  painters  and  sculp- 
tors appear  there.  And  the  names  of  some  Neapolitan 
artists  who  arose  from  the  unknown,  in  the  course  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  are  not  only  written  in  the 
books  of  their  parishes,  but  are  found  in  the  book  of 
art. 

"As  to  the  preceding  period,  certainly  the  patriotic 
zeal  shown  in  our  day  to  decipher  every  chart  upon 
which  might  be  found  trace  of  Neapolitan  works  is 
praiseworthy :  but  if  the  zealous  workers  have  any  care 
for  the  truth  and  for  common  sense,  they  cannot  wish 
to  work  for  falsities  as  De  Dominici  and  others  have 
finished  by  doing,  and  for  the  simple  pleasure  of  creat- 


84  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

ing  local  artists,  for  upon  mere  indication  it  is  not 
possible  to  admit  any  of  these  conjectures." 

From  what  comes  this  impotence?  Before  looking 
for  it  and  as  an  aid  to  finding  it,  let  us  read  the  history. 

On  the  death  of  Joan  II.,  in  1435,  Naples  found  her- 
self in  the  possession  of  two  masters.  One  was  Al- 
fonso of  Aragon,  adopted  by  Joan,  and  descendant, 
by  Costanza,  that  daughter  of  Manfred  who  married 
Pedro  of  Aragon  (some  century  and  a  half  before), 
from  Frederick  II.,  grandson,  through  his  mother 
Costanza,  of  Roger  of  the  Two  Sicilies.  The  other 
master  was  Rene  d'Anjou,  whom  also,  to  be  sure,  Joan 
adopted  in  her  will,  but  who  had  no  rights  here  by 
reason  of  his  countship  of  Anjou,  his  pretensions 
being  based  upon  his  birth  as  a  Valois,  Marie  de  Valois 
having  been  the  mother  of  Joan.  In  fact,  neither  the 
filiation  nor  adoption  counted  in  the  case.  Naples, 
however,  was  for  him  who  could  take  her  or  for  him 
whom  the  Pope,  the  King  of  France,  the  Emperor  of 
Germany,  the  nobles  of  Italy,  or  condottieri  in  want  of 
domain,  might  permit  to  take  her. 

The  preference  of  the  Neapolitans  counted  for 
nothing  either.  Still,  they  declared  themselves  for 
Rene,  out  of  feeling  for  his  amiable  brother  Louis. 
Alfonso,  who  was  in  Sicily,  started  forth  and  laid 
siege  to  Gaeta.   A  Genoese  fleet  came  to  the  rescue  of 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  85 

Gaeta, — the  old  hatred  of  the  Genoese  for  the  Catalon- 
ians  was  aroused,  the  old  Mediterranean  rivalry — 
and  took  Alfonso  prisoner  to  Genoa.  He  found  means 
to  get  away,  however,  and  went  to  Milan.  It  was 
not  difficult  to  make  Visconti  see  what  danger  would 
threaten  Milan  if  Ren^,  the  Provengal,  became  master 
of  the  south  of  Italy,  and  some  time  after  February, 
1434,  strong  in  the  support  of  Milan,  Alfonso  landed  a 
second  time  at  Gaeta.  He  was  received  with  joy  in 
memory  of  the  himiane  disposition  he  had  shown  at 
the  time  of  his  first  attack. 

What  did  Ren6  do?  He  found  himself  much  hin- 
dered, being  held  prisoner  by  the  Due  de  Bourgogne 
with  whom  he  was  squabbling  over  the  succession  of 
Lorraine.  His  wife,  Elizabeth  of  Lorraine,  came  down 
into  Italy  in  his  stead.  At  the  same  time  the  Pope,  too, 
sent  down  a  little  army,  and  Sforza  also  advanced, 
pretending  to  protect  his  fiefs,  received  in  the  time  of 
Caraccioli,  but  in  reality  to  deceive  the  kingdom, 
although  prepared  to  fall  back  on  Milan  if  he  failed. 
That  made  four  armies  that  the  Neapolitan  had  to 
support  with  all  the  consequences  that  that  word  sug- 
gests in  an  epoch  when  a  little  pity  for  the  inhabitants 
of  Gaeta  won  for  Alfonso  the  name  of  the  Magnani- 
mous, which  history  has  retained. 

Elizabeth  kept  up  the  struggle  against  Alfonso  for 
three  years  until,  at  length,  in  1438,  Ren6  joined  her, 


86  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

bringing,  however,  nothing  but  his  goodwill,  when 
money  and  soldiers  were  in  crying  demand.  Gradu- 
ally his  partisans  fell  away  from  him,  and  he  was 
starving  on  the  2d  of  June,  when  Alfonso  entered  the 
city  by  the  aqueduct,  as  Belisarius  had  done.  Ren6 
escaped,  abandoned  by  the  Pope  who  had  crowned  him 
and  who  also  crowned  Alfonso  in  his  turn,  on  condi- 
tion that  he  drive  Sforza  out  of  the  Marches  of  An- 
cona,  far  from  unpleasant  conditions,  since  Alfonso 
suspected  Sforza's  ambitions.  At  this  point  we  touch 
the  great  epoch  of  the  condottieri  which  we  have  met  in 
the  little  cities  of  Italy.  In  respect  to  Naples  particu- 
larly, it  is  interesting  now  to  note  the  official  French 
intervention.  Hitherto  it  was  the  cousins,  more  or 
less  near,  of  the  King  of  France,  who  came  down,  and 
always  at  the  call  of  Italy,  with  no  intentions  of  con- 
quest. In  1447,  the  King  of  France,  having  heard  so 
much  of  the  wonders  of  Italy,  began  to  think  that  he 
had  some  rights  there  through  Valentine  Visconti, 
wife  of  the  Due  d'Orleans,  his  uncle.  To  whom  was 
Milan  to  fall?  To  Valentine's  heir  or  to  Visconti's 
son-in-law,  Sforza?  In  1450  it  fell  to  Sforza.  The 
quarrel  gave  Alfonso  a  little  time  to  breathe,  of 
which  he  took  advantage  to  prepare  a  magnifi- 
cent reception  to  the  Emperor  Frederick  III.,  who 
came  to  Naples  for  his  fiancee  Eleonora  of  Portu- 
gal, Alfonso's  niece.     We  see  traces  of  this  imperial 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  87 

journey  under  the  brush  of  Pinturicchio  in  the  Cathe- 
dral at  Siena. 

After  the  Emperor  left,  the  war  between  Alfonso 
and  Sforza  reopened.  It  was  interrupted  by  the 
taking  of  Constantinople  by  the  Turks,  and  a  short 
truce  followed  the  signing  of  the  Peace  of  Lodi.  Then 
Jean  d'Anjou,  son  of  Ren6,  took  possession  of  Genoa  in 
the  name  of  Charles  VII.,  pretending  to  protect  the 
city  against  the  enterprise  of  Aragon.  Thereupon 
Alfonso  promptly  sent  a  fleet  into  the  Gulf  of  Genoa, 
but  such  results  as  that  enterprise  might  have  had 
were  frustrated  by  Alfonso's  sudden  death,  at  the  age 
of  sixty-three  years,  on  the  17th  of  June,  1458. 

Alfonso  the  Magnanimous  left  Naples  to  his  natural 
son  Ferdinand,  and  Sicily,  as  well  as  Sardinia,  to  his 
brother  John,  King  of  Aragon  and  Navarre.  Al- 
fonso was  what  used  to  be  called  "an  accomplished 
prince":  kind,  gentle,  his  lofty  pride  tempered  by  his 
extremely  charming  manner;  a  man  of  prestige  and  of 
adventures  or,  at  least,  one  whose  memory  was  long 
kept  green  by  stories  of  his  brave  doings.  Married  to 
Margaret  of  Castile  he  loved  Margaret  of  Hijar,  whom 
his  wife  had  strangled.  From  that  time,  it  is  said,  he 
never  wished  to  see  his  queen  again  and  for  that  reason 
he  left  Aragon.  His  Neapolitan  court  reminded  the 
Italians  of  that  of  Manfred  and  the  kings  of  Sicily, 
frequented  as  it  was  by  men  of  letters  and  scholars. 


88  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

His  coat-of-arms  bore  an  open  book,  and  he  never 
travelled  without  his  volumes  of  Livy  and  Caesar. 
Popular  as  no  other  king  ever  was,  he  walked  about 
the  streets  of  Naples  without  escort,  saying,  "A  father 
has  nothing  to  fear  from  his  children."  He  welcomed 
and  listened  to  the  humblest  of  them,  even  taking  a 
tender  interest  in  their  love  affairs.  The  people  al- 
ways remembered  how  magnanimously  he  had  treated 
his  wife,  never  being  willing  to  punish  her,  satisfied  to 
see  her  no  more.  When  it  was  known  in  Naples  that 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Lucrezia  d'Alagno,  the 
daughter  of  a  Neapolitan  nobleman,  there  was  tre- 
mendous excitement.  And  Pius  II.  affirms  in  his 
commentaries  that  great  as  was  the  romantic  at- 
mosphere surrounding  Alfonso,  Lucrezia  never 
yielded  to  him. 

No  heir  to  the  throne  ever  had  such  a  fair  heritage 
as  was  left  to  Ferdinand  I.  (Don  Ferrante),  not  even 
Joan  I.,  succeeding  to  the  kingdom  of  Robert  the  Wise 
with  whom  Alfonso  was  compared.  Was  Ferdinand 
Alfonso's  son?  Some  say  that  he  was,  but  not  the 
son  of  Margaret  of  Hijar,  that  she  only  assumed  the 
maternity  to  screen  the  mother,  her  sister-in-law. 
Others,  among  whom  were  Pontano,  Ferdinand's 
secretary,  say  that  his  mother  was  a  certain  Vilardona 
and  his  father  a  Mussulman  shoemaker  of  Valencia. 
But  Pontano  was  such  a  sorry  wretch!     Counsellor 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  89 

and  friend  of  the  King,  a  man  who  though  obliged  to 
run  away  from  his  native  city  in  Umbria  had  found 
unheard-of  good  fortune  in  Naples,  yet  who  threw 
himself  into  the  arms  of  Charles  VIII.,  the  conqueror 
of  the  kings,  to  whom  he  owed  everything  and  whom 
he  had  tried  to  dishonour.  Notwithstanding  all  this, 
Naples  still  keeps  his  ashes  with  those  of  his  wife,  of  his 
three  children,  and  of  an  intimate  friend,  all  together 
with  interminable  epitaphs  dictated  by  the  responsible 
father  himself.  Whether  Ferdinand  was  the  son  of 
Alfonso  or  the  Valencian  shoemaker  no  one  but  Pon- 
tano  troubled  himself.  Since  1443  he  had  been  pro- 
claimed successor  by  his  legal  father  and  recognized 
by  the  Pope.  A  few  months  after  he  took  the  throne 
Ferdinand  learned  of  the  death  of  Calixtus  III., 
Borgia,  formerly  Bishop  of  Valencia,  who,  after 
having  married  him,  under  Pope  Nicholas  V.,  to  a 
daughter  of  the  Orsini,  turned  against  him,  claiming 
the  reversion  of  the  throne  of  Naples  to  the  Holy  See. 
But  Pius  II.,  whose  mind  w^as  always  on  the  Turics, 
recognized  Ferdinand  and  proposed  to  him  that  he 
give  his  sister  Marie  in  marriage  to  his,  the  Pope's 
nephew.  So  everything  opened  most  propitiously 
for  the  new  reign,  in  a  beautiful  consolidated  kingdom, 
which  had  a  preponderate  influence  in  Italy  and  in  the 
entire  world.  There  was  no  one  even  to  the  Turks, 
threatening  danger,  who  did  not  give  the  King  an  im- 


90  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

portant  part  to  play.      Every  one  smiled  on  Ferdi- 
nand. 

And  what  had  the  throne  of  Naples?  Another 
Joan  I.  grinning  upon  it !  At  the  Museum  you  should 
not  fail  to  see  that  bust  of  the  man  of  at  least  forty, 
which,  by  manifest  error,  bears  the  name  of  Ferdinand 
II.,  since  Ferdinand  II.  died  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
seven  years.  There  had  been,  it  is  true,  before  Alfon- 
so's time,  a  Ferdinand,  King  of  Aragon  and  Castile, 
who  was  King  of  Sicily  from  1412  to  1416,  and  if  he 
were  called  the  First,  King  Alfonso's  heir  would  have 
been  Ferdinand  II.;  but  the  inscription  would  be  none 
the  less  confusing,  for  in  the  Palazzo  Scorciati  the 
same  bust  is  seen  with  a  crown,  instead  of  a  hood,  and 
is  called  Ferdinand  I.  Never  anywhere  was  seen  a 
physiognomy  more  stupid  and  bestial!  One  would 
be  tempted  to  say  never  could  there  be  such  another  if 
it  were  not  for  that  perfection  of  this  type  in  another 
Ferdinand  II.  of  the  Two  Sicilies,  him  of  1830  to  1848, 
the  Bourbon — the  notorious  King  Bomba.  Listen  to 
what  was  said  by  Commines  who  but  repeated  what 
was  said  to  him:  "  No  man  was  ever  more  cruel  than 
he  (Alfonso  II.,  the  son  of  Ferdinand  I.),  nor  wickeder, 
nor  more  vicious,  more  contaminating,  nor  a  greater 
gourmand.  The  father  (Ferdinand)  was  more  danger- 
ous, for  no  one  knew  when  he  was  in  his  rages ;  and  when 
he  was  most  playful  he  was  taking  people  in  and  be- 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  91 

traying  them.  .  .  .  He  bought  and  sold  the  entire 
kingdom,  even  to  putting  out  his  swine  upon  the  people 
to  fatten  them  so  that  they  might  sell  for  a  better 
price,  but  if  they  died,  the  people  had  to  pay  him  for 
them.  In  the  places  where  oil  was  produced,  as  in 
Apulia,  he  and  his  son  bought  it  all  before  it  was  ripe 
and  sold  it  after  it  was  mature  enough  to  use,  so  that 
no  one  but  they  could  have  the  benefit  of  the  sale. 
Are  we  surprised,  then,  to  learn  that  after  a  few  months 
he  had  estranged  all  his  subjects,  even  his  father-in- 
law  who  held  Lecce  and  Taranto?  Everyone  began 
to  look  towards  the  Aragonian  of  Sicily,  John  of  Na- 
varre, Alfonso's  brother.  It  seems  that  Alfonso,  who 
must  have  known  his  son's  character,  foresaw  that  the 
people  would  tire  of  him,  and  was  it  not  as  a  resource 
for  them  that  he  left  Sicily  to  his  brother  John  ?  At 
any  rate,  the  people  saw  it  so,  but  as  John  had  affairs 
requiring  his  attention  in  Catalonia  at  that  moment, 
he  put  them  off.  The  Neapolitan  barons  were  not  in 
a  mood  to  wait  and  turned  to  Jean  d'Anjou  who  con- 
sented to  come  down  on  condition  that  Sforza  agree  to 
aid  him.  It  was  a  prudent  condition.  Surely  Sforza 
could  not  favour  the  acquisition  of  an  Italian  kingdom 
by  a  Provengal  without  risking  his  own  duchy."  Jean 
was  pressed  by  the  impatient  barons  now  full  of  en- 
thusiasm for  this  prince,  agreeable,  loyal,  and  good,  a 
worthy  son  of  his  father  Ren^,  till,  at  length  he  decided 


92  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

to  act  without  Sforza.  Coming  down  in  spite  of  the 
opposition  of  Pius  II.,  he  cut  Ferdinand's  army  to 
pieces  at  Samo  in  1460.  Naples  was  open  to  him, 
when  he  saw  rise  before  him  the  most  enraged  of  all 
Ferdinand's  enemies,  the  father-in-law,  Orsini!  He, 
like  Sforza,  like  all  the  condottieri,  had  an  eye  on  the 
ripe  pear  for  himself.  Perhaps,  too,  he  had  been 
moved  by  the  prayers  of  his  daughter  Isabel,  Ferdi- 
nand's wife,  whose  courage,  grace,  and  virtue  made  her 
the  idol  of  the  Neapolitans.  Appealing  to  them,  with 
her  six  children  before  her,  she  succeeded  in  preserving 
the  throne  for  her  unworthy  husband. 

Ferdinand  soon  set  forth  again  to  war,  running  to 
Foggia  to  raise  money  for  his  troops.  The  great  plain 
of  Tavoliera  was,  in  winter,  the  only  feeding-place  of 
the  millions  of  sheep  that  Alfonso  had  imported  from 
Aragon  and  which,  in  spring,  went  back  up  into  the 
mountains  where  they  lived  most  of  the  year.  The 
shepherds  were  obliged  to  pay  certain  taxes  to  go  and 
to  come  back.  The  seat  of  war  was  then  in  Apulia, 
and  the  question  was  which  of  the  two  armies  would 
arrive  there  first.  The  honours  carried  off  by  one,  the 
other  would  not  insist,  but  would  try  to  be  more  prompt 
six  months  later.  This  year,  Ferdinand  arrived  first, 
and  the  old  land  of  the  Normans,  Guiscard  and  Roger, 
of  German  Frederick  and  Manfred  saw  an  army  of 
Frenchmen    grappling    with    Ferdinand,    Aragonian 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  93 

descendant  of  those  Normans  and  Germans.  In  the 
meantime  Orsini  had  again  turned  against  his  son-in- 
law,  while  Sforza,  the  most  clear-sighted  of  all  of  them, 
was  powerless  to  galvanize  even  the  most  selfish  Ital- 
ian feelings  in  favour  of  the  abject  son  of  Alfonso. 
Then  Ferdinand  had  his  father-in-law  strangled; 
Jean  d'Anjou  fled  to  refuge  in  Ischia,  where  Ren^  his 
father  came  to  take  him  home.  Ferdinand  returned 
victor  to  Naples  where  he  arrested  all  those  who  had 
shown  a  leaning  toward  the  Angevin  prince,  confiscat- 
ing their  property,  of  course,  and  assassinating  them. 
And,  his  virtuous  wife  being  dead,  he  married  Sforza's 
daughter  Hippolyta. 

As  the  Pope  had  been  favourable  to  Ferdinand, 
there  was  him  to  pay.  Florence,  on  which  Sixtus  IV. 
had  just  played  the  trick  of  the  plot  of  the  Pazzi,  was 
to  serve  as  the  ransom.  It  would  only  cost  Ferdinand 
some  of  his  soldiers.  But  Ludovico  il  Moro,  Sforza's 
son,  made  Ferdinand  understand  the  danger  he  ran  in 
enlarging  the  power  of  the  Holy  See  by  giving  Flor- 
ence into  the  papal  control.  Lorenzo  de'  Medici  then 
made  a  visit  to  Naples  in  great  pomp.  "  Instead  of 
weakening  ourselves,"  he  said  to  Ferdinand,  "let  us 
unite  against  the  French,  who  are  the  present  danger." 
On  March  25,  1480,  the  peace  was  signed  between 
Naples  and  Florence  in  spite  of  the  Pope  and  so  evi- 
dently arousing  his  spite  that,  some  months  later,  when 


94  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Turks  landed  at  Otranto,  Ferdinand  on  hearing  of  it, 
exclaimed,  "That  is  a  blow  from  the  Pope!"  It  was 
not  the  Pope  who  struck,  but  Venice.  The  death  of 
Mohammed  II.,  however,  recalled  the  Turks  and 
Ferdinand  breathed  more  freely. 

Then  Sixtus  IV.  died  and  Ferdinand  had  more 
work  to  defend  himself,  for  the  new  Pope  knew  him 
too  well.  He  was  Innocent  VIII.  (Cib6),  Bishop  of 
Amalfi,  brought  up  at  the  court  of  Alfonso.  Hardly 
was  the  tiara  on  his  head  before  he  had  the  whole 
world  in  motion  against  the  King  of  a  persecuted 
Naples.  In  1492  he  called  upon  Charles  VIII.,  King 
of  France,  to  come  and  gather  the  beautiful  kingdom 
of  Naples  for  the  papacy,  although  he  did  not  say  so. 
Charles  was  not  ready,  and  did  not  make  himself  so 
until  the  last  of  1494,  and,  by  that  time,  Ferdinand  was 
dead — but  not  before  he  had  married  the  natural  daugh- 
ter of  his  son  Alfonso  to  the  son  of  the  Borgia  Pope. 

What  followed  is  part  of  the  history  of  France. 
Charles  VIII.  came  down  into  Italy  and  entered  Naples, 
Alfonso  II.  ran  away  as  fast  as  his  legs  would  carry 
him  and  died  in  Sicily.  His  son,  Ferdinand  II.,  who 
resembled  his  ancestor  Alfonso  I.,  reconquered  the 
kingdom.  Naples  began  to  flourish  again.  But 
Ferdinand  fell  madly  in  love  with  his  aunt  Joanna, 
married  her,  and  died  September  7,  1496,  it  was  said, 
of  exhaustion. 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  95 

Naples,  too,  was  dying  of  exhaustion:  no  army,  no 
money,  the  land  uncultivated,  cities  and  castles  dis- 
mantled. Such  was  the  state  of  the  kingdom  inherited 
by  Frederick,  uncle  of  Ferdinand  II.  The  end  of  the 
Aragon  rule  had  come.  The  struggle  against  the  King 
of  France  was  materially  impossible,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  Louis  XII.  refused  all  offers  of  tribute,  of  garri- 
sons, and  of  vassalage.  What  Louis  wanted  was  to 
divide  Naples  and  Sicily  with  King  Ferdinand  II.  the 
Catholic  of  Sicily,  son  of  King  John  of  Aragon,  Navarre, 
and  Sicily,  therefore  nephew  of  Alfonso  the  Magnani- 
mous. The.  bargain  was  struck — abominably,  for  the 
Catholic  was  to  pretend  to  send  allies  to  Frederick  of 
Naples  and  when  the  soldiers  were  in  occupation  of 
their  divers  posts,  the  Catholic  would  take  for  his 
share  Apulia  (with  the  sheep)  and  Calabria,  leav- 
ing Naples  and  the  Abruzzi  to  the  King  of  France. 
Gonsalvo  of  Cordova  would  land  in  Sicily.  Some 
months  later,  Frederick  left  Naples,  driven  out  by  his 
allies,  taking  refuge  in  France  with  Louis  XII.  who  was 
as  undeceived  as  himself.  In  1504  he  died  in  Anjou, 
of  which  Louis  XII.  had  created  him  coimt,  the  last 
irony!  His  oldest  son  died,  without  children,  in 
Spain  in  1550.  His  second  son  died  at  Grenoble, 
poisoned,  in  1515.  His  third  son  died  at  Ferrara  at 
the  age  of  eighteen  years.  His  daughter  Charlotte, 
married  to  the  Count  of  Laval,  had  a  daughter  Anne 


96  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

who  married  Francois  de  la  Tr^moille.  The  line 
never  found  its  way  back  to  the  throne  of  Naples. 

After  a  thousand  vicissitudes  with  which  the  history 
of  France  has  made  us  familiar,  the  entire  Kingdom  of 
Naples  was  given  by  the  Treaty  of  Blois  to  Ferdinand 
II.,  the  Catholic  of  Sicily  whose  heir  and  grandson  was 
the  Hapsburg,  Charles  V.,  Emperor  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire,  King  of  Spain.  The  King  then  had  larger 
fish  to  fry  than  those  in  the  fat  of  Naples  or  of  Sicily, 
and  the  era  of  the  viceroys  began.  It  is  time  to  close 
the  chapter  on  Aragon  rule. 

Neither  in  the  fourteenth  nor  in  the  fifteenth  centu- 
ries was  there  a  national  art  in  the  Kingdom  of  Naples. 
Strangers  to  Southern  Italy  came  and  worked  here  or 
sent  their  work  here.  With  some  exceptions,  such  as 
Giovanni  da  Nola,  who,  however,  was  but  fifteen  years 
old  in  1503, — exceptions  which  were  insufficient  to  con- 
stitute what  might  be  called  an  art, — there  was  no  one 
here  to  profit  by  the  lessons  of  the  visiting  artists. 

As  for  the  time  of  Anjou,  the  reason  is  clear:  Gothic 
art  could  not  lodge  in  the  Italian  brain.  But  Aragon ? 
In  the  Aragonian  days  the  art  brought  into  Naples 
was  of  the  Renaissance,  ethnically  Italian.  Giotto 
was  Italian,  too,  yet  the  pure  representatives  of  the 
genius  of  the  race  under  Aragon  succeeded  no  better 
than  he.  The  Renaissance  passed  by  Naples  as  great 
a  stranger  as  had  been  the  Gothic.     There  must  be 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  97 

some  other  reason,  then,  equally  applicable  to  Anjou 
and  Giotto  as  to  Aragon  and  Maiano.  In  both  cases, 
we  must  remember  the  reigns  of  bad  government. 
Who,  indeed,  after  having  read  the  histories  of  the 
reigns  of  the  two  Joans,  of  Ferdinand  I.  and  of  Al- 
fonso II .  can  wonder  if  any  one  ever  had  leisure  for  art  ? 
Even  this  does  not  answer  all  inquiry.  Other  coun- 
tries of  Italy,  prey  to  factions,  to  nobles,  to  condottieri, 
did  not  fail  to  work  steadily  at  art.  Surely  there  were 
Medici  who  outdid  the  Joans,  Visconti  worse  than 
Ferdinand,  Estes  to  match  Alfonsos,  and  Malatesta  to 
pale  all  Aragon!  But  the  most  badly  treated  of  their 
cities,  like  Bologna,  Perugia,  Pisa,  Orvieto,  still  found 
means  to  rise  to  the  highest  rank  in  art.  In  Naples, 
it  seems  as  if  there  was  a  worm  in  the  bud,  a  mole 
burrowing  under  ground  and  cutting  the  roots. 

The  blight  was  the  natural  poverty  of  Southern 
Italy  which  I  have  already  described  and  discussed,' 
yet  cannot  pass  over  without  some  brief  references 
here,  so  great  a  factor  is  it  in  the  artistic  poverty  of 
Naples.  Apart  from  the  Campania,  sort  of  oasis 
on  the  edge  of  the  desert, — whose  reputation  at- 
tracted the  pillage  which  reduced  it  to  the  common 
level, — Southern  Italy  is  made  up  of  the  least  fertile 
lands  of  the  peninsula.  When  Naples  shall  have  be- 
come the  great  industrial  city  towards  which  we,  in  the 

•  Little  Cities  of  Italy,  vol.  iii  (in  preparation) . 
7 


98  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

first  years  of  this  twentieth  century,  see  the  initial 
efforts,  perhaps  the  conditions  of  culture  in  Southern 
Italy  will  be  improved.  The  workman  will  ask  for  his 
daily  bread  from  the  Neapolitan  factories,  instead  of 
seeking  it  across  the  seas.  A  lower  middle  class  will 
then  form  rapidly  among  these  sober  and  industrious 
people,  that  is  to  say,  a  saving  class  whose  economies 
will  extend  over  the  paternal  fields.  Schools,  become 
more  numerous,  will  raise  the  mental  level  of  the 
individual,  permitting  a  more  intelligent  culture  which 
will  comprehend,  among  other  things,  the  necessity 
of  respecting  the  forests  cut  down  in  earlier  days  by 
the  nobles  avaricious  for  quick  profits.  That  is  for 
the  future.  Any  good  government  should  favour  the 
intellectual  and  material  amelioration  of  a  country 
which,  however  far  back  its  history  can  be  traced,  only 
shows  ceaseless  exploitation  exhausting  its  resources 
and  indifference  to  the  morrow,  systematically  main- 
tained in  decay  in  order  to  grind  it  down  without  in- 
convenient revolt.  And  its  profits,  instead  of  serving, 
as  does  the  money  today  sent  home  from  America  by 
the  emigrants,  almost  exclusively  to  pay  the  taxes, 
when  it  does  not  filter  through  the  savings  banks  into 
the  general  budget  of  Italy,  will  become  one  of  the 
forces  consecrated  to  the  improvement  of  the  land. 
It  will  be  invested  in  the  country  by  the  brothers  of  the 
workmen,  the  sons  who  are  willing  to  stay  at  home 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  99 

because  it  will  have  become  worth  while  for  them  to 
remain  in  their  villages.  But  it  will  never  be  more 
than  an  amelioration,  even  if  Southern  Italy  obtains 
what  she  is  crying  for  so  loudly,  the  assessment  of  the 
taxes.  At  present  she  pays  one  third  of  the  imposts  of 
the  realm  and  her  share  is  but  one  quarter  of  the  total 
product  of  the  nation.  And  the  cleverest  and  most 
economical  industry  can  never  rectify  the  distribution 
of  the  waters  of  heaven  or  transform  the  calcareous 
rock  into  fertile  ground. 

In  Southern  Italy,  rain  falls  but  at  certain  times  and 
when  vegetation  is  nothing,  that  is  from  December  to 
March.  That  is  why  the  flocks  of  Tavoliera  go  up  in 
the  mountains  every  spring.  During  the  months  of 
spring  and  siimmer  it  rains  eight  times  more  in  Lom- 
bardy  than  in  Apulia  and  Calabria.  Now,  no  rain,  no 
fodder;  no  fodder,  no  cattle;  no  cattle,  no  husbandry, 
no  stock.  And  even  when  there  is  rain,  on  what  soil 
does  it  fall?  On  a  soil  of  scaly  slate  or  of  limestone 
upon  which  there  are  no  visions  of  fattening  stock. 
If  the  plough  does  not  furrow  dry  mud,  it  scrapes  the 
limestone.  You  must  go  through  Apulia  from  Foggia 
to  Lecce  and  Otranto  to  understand  the  poverty  of  a 
land  which  is  scraped  clean  of  all  htunus  and  which  no 
cloud  sprinkles  for  months  together  even  when,  in  spite 
of  all  opposition,  some  friendly  humus  tries  to  collect. 

Bad  land  and  bad  climate:  Ireland  and  Italy,  it  has 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


been  said.  Here  is  an  Ireland  where  it  does  not  rain, 
and  this  land  has  been  from  unknown  time  what  it  is 
now.  The  generous  splendour  of  Naples  should  not 
deceive  us.  The  moment  we  pass  beyond  the  Cam- 
pania we  are  on  the  land  of  the  Normans  and  the  Ara- 
gonians.  One  must  be  dull  indeed  not  to  comprehend 
the  influence  of  such  poverty  upon  the  social  develop- 
ment of  a  country  and,  consequently,  upon  its  arts! 
The  Roman  Empire  had  hardly  disappeared  when 
Northern  Italy  began  to  arrange  for  an  independent 
life,  city  by  city,  each  one  for  itself,  and  finding  satis- 
faction in  the  results.  One  learns  how  to  become 
master  of  one's  own  destinies  when  one  no  longer  has 
need  of  another  for  subsistence.  With  a  little  ex- 
change one  is  more  than  prosperous.  In  that  way 
developed  all  those  little  republics  which  make  Italian 
history  so  passionate,  cities  that  became  full  of  works 
showing  all  the  manifestations  of  a  personal  art. 
Southern  Italy,  on  the  contrary,  remained  like  a  solid 
block,  a  rock  without  a  cleavage,  indivisible.  It  was 
because  not  one  of  her  cities  could  live  by  itself.  They 
barely  managed  to  exist  by  shouldering  up  one  another. 
That  is,  they  hung  together,  sustaining  one  another, 
forming  a  whole  appreciable  as  a  mass  by  those  who 
should  wish  to  possess  an  Italic  holding  at  the  price 
of  protecting  it.  The  Greeks,  who  dreamed  of  recon- 
structing the  universal  empire,  the  Lombards,  seeking 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  loi 

to  bring  back  to  life  the  Occidental  Empire,  the  Nor- 
mans who  wanted  to  rejuvenate  that  Empire,  asked  of 
it  only  roadstead,  fortresses,  refuges,  a  base  of  supplies 
and  of  operations,  in  fact.  The  Greek  civilization 
was  at  Byzantiimi,  that  of  the  Lombards  in  Lombardy, 
that  of  the  Normans  in  Sicily.  Naples  was  but  a  camp 
and  a  battlefield.  The  people  gathered  about  these 
different  masters  who  brought  them  some  money  in 
exchange  for  their  services  and  their  servitude,  who 
sometimes  paid  for  the  poor  harvests,  instead  of  appro- 
priating them,  who  sometimes  almost  fed  the  people 
building  the  fortresses,  who  protected  the  sheep  in 
view  of  the  taxes  they  yielded,  who  employed  the  men 
in  military  setvice,  furnishing  them  with  something  to 
eat  and  giving  them  opportunities  to  pillage.  Know- 
ing what  masters  they  were,  the  Neapolitans  pressed 
about  them,  knowing,  too,  that  the  day  those  masters 
should  leave  them  would  mark  the  day  of  their  death 
upon  a  dry  and  rebellious  soil. 

The  artistic  flight  we  see  in  Northern  Italy  was  im- 
possible to  Southern  Italy  where  it  had  not  even  a 
municipal  life,  but  life  cut  short.  When  men  are 
himgry  they  do  not  dream  of  building  and  painting. 
Intellectual  development  goes  hand  in  hand  with  pro- 
sperity. Florence  and  Venice  show  that  clearly  enough. 
Rome,  on  the  contrary,  abandoned  or  exploited, 
stagnated  until  the  sixteenth  century.     Naples  stag- 


I02  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

nated  still  more.  Did  she  really  create  nothing? 
For  an  instant,  we  may  raise  an  illusion  that  she  did 
something  in  letters.  Under  Alfonso  and  his  son  there 
was,  at  Castel  Nuovo,  a  sort  of  literary  and  academi- 
cal court  presided  over  by  Beccadelli  and  to  which  his 
Hermaphrodite  gave  the  tone.  The  movement  was 
superficial  and  factitious.  If  it  had  been  not  even 
profound,  but  simply  comprehensible,  it  would  have 
lived.  An  amusement  in  which  puerility  vied  with 
verbosity,  an  amusement  of  the  King  who  wished  to 
raise  himself  to  the  height  of  a  Medici  or  a  Montefeltro; 
when  the  King  was  no  longer,  it  disappeared.  The 
plastic  arts  were  equally  ephemeral.  Artists  who 
came  here  and  masterpieces  that  were  sent  here  made 
no  impression  upon  a  people  too  poor  to  produce  any- 
thing whatever.  Let  us  accustom  ourselves  to  think 
of  Italy  from  the  double  point  of  view,  the  natural  and 
the  historic,  to  see  two  Italics,  the  Northern  and  the 
Southern;  the  one  independent  and  prosperous,  the 
other  united  and  impoverished.  In  that  light  every- 
thing becomes  clear. 

Now  we  shall  be  able  to  understand  that  the  arrival 
of  Ferdinand  II.  the  Catholic  of  Sicily  changed 
nothing.  He  was,  apparently,  a  new  conqueror,  but  to 
Naples  his  coming  was  a  repetition  of  the  same  old 
story:  a  foreigner  who  brought  her  the  least  advan- 
tages of  which  she  was  in  need  for  existence  in  exchange 


THE  FAILURE  OF  THE  RENAISSANCE  103 

for  rights  to  hold  garrisons  of  soldiers  ready  to  march 
northwards.  The  viceroy  was  but  a  repetition  of  the 
imperial  spathaire,  of  the  duke,  of  the  Norman  count 
laying  hands  upon  the  country.  It  was  at  the  wish  of 
the  viceroy  that  Ribera  and  his  band  landed  at  Naples 
one  day.  That  was  an  invasion  which  ended  in  giv- 
ing life  to  a  certain  sort  of  school,  accomplishing  that 
which  six  or  seven  centuries  of  effort  had  failed  to  do: 
make  a  sterile  country  productive.  So  much  for  the 
fact.  It  now  remains  for  us  to  know  how,  in  what 
conditions,  for  what  reasons  the  Baroque  art  took  root 
in  Naples,  and  if  the  viceroys,  having  gathered  the 
pitiful  harvest  sown  by  the  others,  were  not  cleverer 
than  the  Angevins  or  the  Aragonese,  although  making 
use  of  different  means  than  theirs,  in  fooling  a  people 
constrained  by  their  deprivations  to  believe  in  them. 


ToxirtK  Day 

THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE 

Naples  xinder  tKe  "Viceroys 


OW  we  are  at  the  Inferno!     However 

well  acquainted  you  may  be  with  the 

Italian    genius    through   Virgil    and 

Dante,  some  fear  on  the  moment  of 

entering  is  excusable,     ^neas  himself 

did  not  dare  to  make  the  descent  alone :  he  needed  the 

arm  of  the  Sibyl.     Dante  took  the  hand  of  Virgil. 

Who  will  lead  us  ? 

104 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  105 

A  sculptor,  Giovanni  Merliano  da  Nola.  With  him 
we  shall  be  brave,  and,  above  all,  we  shall  not  get 
lost.  Standing  between  the  Renaissance  and  the 
Baroque,  Nola's  work  is  the  chain  that  links  us  to 
reason  and  to  probity.  From  time  to  time  a  slight 
tension  assures  us  that  we  are  still  held  and  that  we 
must  ourselves  hold  tight. 

In  looking  at  Nola's  work,  do  we  not  ask  ourselves 
if,  indeed,  our  judgment  was  not  hasty  in  condemning 
the  Renaissance  at  Naples  to  sterility?  Let  us  say, 
rather,  that  if  Nola,  an  earnest  and  honest  man,  was  not 
only  unable  to  fotmd  a  school,  but  incapable  himself 
of  persevering,  surely  there  was  nothing  doing  in  the 
artistic  line  at  Naples.  His  Saint  John  at  San  Domeni- 
00  Maggiore  is  simple  and  sincere,  and  in  it  we  see  that 
the  sculptor  had  been  deeply  moved  by  Donatello  and 
Rossellino,  especially  by  Donatello.  When  he  gave 
himself  up  to  his  inspiration,  Nola  maintained  great 
dignity,  but  he  gradually  abandoned  himself  to  facil- 
ity and  success.  From  time  to  time  he  had  attacks  of 
conscience,  as  with  the  tomb  of  Antonia  Gaudino  in 
Santa  Chiara,  with  the  altar  at  San  Domenico  (the 
Virgin  of  which  is  a  charming  expression  of  emotion 
and  whose  angels  recall  those  of  Maiano) ,  and  with  the 
tomb  of  Andrea  Cicara  in  San  Severino  whose  decora- 
tions remind  us  of  a  Roman  frieze.  We  are,  however, 
too  often  offended  by  the  "art  lover"  who  ordered  the 


io6  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

work,  the  commercial  atmosphere  which  surrounded 
the  artist,  the  appetite  awakened  by  the  easy  and 
remunerative  work  which  so  carried  the  worker  off  his 
feet  that  he  profaned  the  Cicara  tomb  with  the  Baptist 
carrying  his  hand  on  his  heart ;  what  was  he  thinking  of 
when  he  chiselled  that  John  flinging  out  a  dancer's  leg 
on  the  inspired  altar  of  San  Domenico,  and  when  he 
fashioned  the  statue  of  Antonia  lying  with  her  head 
in  her  hand,  her  legs  bearing  a  book  over  which  she  has 
just  gone  to  sleep:  no  doubt  reading  the  verses  of 
Pontano!  One  of  Nola's  last  works  was  the  tomb  of 
the  viceroy  Pedro  de  Toledo,  who  died  in  1553,  only 
five  years  before  Nola's  death.  In  that  work  the 
artist  disappeared  entirely.  He  is  always  sombre 
enough  through  excess  of  modesty,  and  here  the  sub- 
ject imposes  gravity,  yet  he  has  managed  to  miss  all 
the  firmness  and  nobility  that  might  be  expected  of  so 
much  seriousness.  In  the  figures  kneeling  at  praying- 
desks,  which  look  like  vases  of  flowers,  in  the  woman 
reading  her  missal,  a  beautiful  helmet  between  the 
gentleman  and  the  lady,  in  the  cardinal  virtues,  not 
one  of  which  could  ever  be  considered  a  Chastity,  in 
all  the  work  anecdote  and  mannerism  reign  supreme. 

The  admirable  bas-relief  representing  the  entry  of 
Pedro  into  Naples  alone  sustains  the  honest  reputa- 
tion of  the  master. 

Of  Nola's  pupils  the  two  ablest  collaborated  with 


AHnari 

Saint  John,  Church  of  San  Domenico 
Maggiore,  Naples 


Alinari 


Tomb  of  Don  Pedro  of  Toledo,  Church  of  San  Giacomo  Maggiore 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  107 

him :  Santa  Croce,  whose  greatest  work  is  the  charm- 
ing altar  of  Monte  Oliveto,  and  Auria  whose  name  will 
long  be  held  in  grateful  remembrance  for  the  fountain 
of  Santa  Lucia  now  in  the  Villa  Nazionale.  After 
them  came  Caccavello,  who  owed  much  to  Gonsalvo 
de  Cordova,  the  first  viceroy  of  Naples,  whose  chapel 
in  Santa  Maria  la  Nuova  he  ornamented,  placing  in  it 
the  Frenchman  Lautrec  who  died  under  the  walls  of 
Naples  in  1528;  Stefani  with  a  Virgin  in  wood;  Bor- 
ghetti  with  two  saints  of  wonderful  simplicity;  and 
one  or  two  others  perhaps.  That  is  all.  With  Nola's 
death  the  movement  stopped.  Naples  produced  no 
more  sculptors.  The  only  two  other  notable  monu- 
ments are  the  work  of  foreigners :  one  by  Malvito,  for 
the  Caraffa,  in  the  Duomo;  the  other  by  Montorsoli, 
for  Sannazaro,  in  Santa  Maria  del  Porto. 

Later,  it  is  true,  Fansaga  tried  to  take  up  the  thread, 
but  we  never  see  anything  of  his  in  which  sculpture  is 
not  too  subservient  to  architecture  to  merit  considera- 
tion by  itself.  The  most  that  we  owe  to  Fansaga  in 
sculpture  is  his  pupil  Bernini,  the  author  of  the  Apollo 
and  Daphne  &n6.  the  David.  It  would  be  cruel  to  hold 
Fansaga  responsible  for  the  Saint  Teresa.  After  all  it  is 
said  Fansaga  was  a  Lombard,  and  Nola,  who  made  his 
appearance  under  the  Aragonese,  was  directly  influenced 
by  the  Renaissance,  so,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
he  continued  to  work  and  to  have  something  like  a 


io8  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

school,  it  may  be  admitted  that  the  art  of  the  chisel 
did  not  exist  in  the  time  of  the  viceroys.  Nola  learned 
his  trade  by  looking  at  Donatello.  He  moulded  five 
or  six  pupils,  and  there  Neapolitan  sculpture  ends. 
As  the  Renaissance  grew  more  remote,  nothing  new 
appeared.  When  the  Renaissance  was  dead,  the 
Neapolitan  soil,  so  slightly  enriched  by  it,  lapsed  once 
more  into  sterility. 

Before  commenting  on  the  causes  of  these  things, 
let  us  investigate  a  little  further.  In  looking  at  archi- 
tecture two  categories  of  monuments  are  seen :  those 
which  were  original  and  those  which  were  appropriated. 
The  latter  are  innumerable ;  the  former,  comparatively 
rare — ^five  churches  in  all.  The  first  is  Santa  Caterina 
a  Formello,  near  the  Porta  Capuana,  built  in  1524  by 
a  Florentine  architect.  The  second,  San  Giacomo  degli 
Spagnuoli,  whose  exterior  merit  it  is  difficult  to  appre- 
ciate shut  in  as  it  is  by  the  Municipio,  was  built  by 
Ferdinand  in  1820.  The  third,  the  Gesu  or  Santa 
Trinity,  whose  Greek  cross  is  a  Norman  souvenir,  and 
whose  fagade  is  that  of  the  palace,  is  said  to  be  by 
Saleme,  dating  from  the  Renaissance.  The  fourth  is 
San  Paolo,  whose  outer  portico  used  to  be  the  entrance 
to  the  temple  of  Castor  and  Pollux,  of  which  an  earth- 
quake left  standing  but  two  columns,  and  behind  them 
the  present  insignificant  facade  was  built  at  the  close 
of  the  seventeenth  century.     The  last  of  the  five 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  109 

churches  belonging  to  the  category  of  original  monu- 
ments is  that  of  San  Filippo  Neri,  or  de'  Gerolomini, 
also  shut  in,  and  portions  of  it  sacrificed. 

So  much  for  the  new  churches.  Now  for  those 
which  have  been  rebuilt.  In  passing  through  some  of 
them,  let  us  take  a  rapid  glance  here  and  there  at  their 
paintings,  just  enough  to  remember  their  character  in 
view  of  the  approaching  hour  when  we  shall  be  pre- 
pared by  a  general  survey  to  judge  the  works  and  their 
authors. 

We  already  know  that  the  Gesu  made  use  of  a  Re- 
naissance palace  and  San  Paolo  of  an  ancient  temple. 
Now  we  find  San  Domenico's  walls  to  have  been  built 
in  the  time  of  the  Angevin  Charles  II.  One  would  say 
that  it  was  a  Sicilian  church,  almost  like  the  buildings 
inspired  by  the  Arabs  and  by  Byzantium.  These 
walls  have  not  been  touched  since  they  were  built ;  they 
stand  firmly  and  their  surfaces  lend  themselves  to 
decoration.  Let  us  go  in.  The  old  arches  are  still 
here,  but,  alas,  scratched,  incrusted,  overcharged. 
Their  beauty,  which  lies  exclusively  in  lightness  of 
line,  has  disappeared  under  a  dazzling  coffer  ceiling. 
There  is  little  painting.  The  interesting  objects  of 
San  Domenico  are  the  tombs  of  Caraffa  and,  still  more, 
that  of  Pignatelli,  Count  of  Monteleone  which  is  equal 
to  an  Andrea  B regno.  Nola,  too,  worked  much  in 
San  Domenico.     We  are  on  the  lookout  for  him,  al- 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


ways  finding  pleasure  and  profit  in  glancing  at  his 
work,  feeling  the  chain  a  bit  in  passing.  The  Baroque 
painting  triumphs  with  a  masterpiece  in  the  sacrist ry. 
The  ceiling  above  the  coffins  of  the  Aragonese  is  brilliant 
with  every  shade  of  red  and  yellow,  with  a  joyous  light, 
full  of  the  fire  and  life  of  the  genius  of  Solimena,  whose 
pupils,  Bonito,  Mura,  and  Conca  were  able  to  learn 
from  him  something  of  grouping  and  pose.  There  is  a 
little  of  everything  in  this  ceiling :  the  damned  thrown 
down  by  the  archangel,  the  triimiph  of  the  Holy 
Sacrament,  Saint  Dominick  blessed  by  the  Virgin,  who 
smiles  at  him  with  the  most  tender  grace,  Jesus 
brought  down  from  the  Cross  by  cherubs,  and  an 
Eternal  Father  coming  out  of  a  bowl  carried  by  angels. 
Jesus  is  ridiculous;  he  looks  as  if  he  were  jumping  down 
from  the  cross  while  whirling  his  arms  around  like  an 
acrobat;  the  archangel  seems  to  be  driving  out  the 
damned  by  kicks  in  their  stomachs,  and  the  saintly 
monk  appears  to  be  excusing  himself  from  a  too  ardent 
declaration.  But  all  this  is  enveloped  in  a  pleasant 
light,  the  nudes  are  frank;  it  is,  indeed,  a  flowery  gar- 
land formed  by  all  these  figures,  bound  one  to  another 
without  being  tied,  yet  cleverly  spread  out ;  above  all, 
the  pose  and  action  are  executed  with  such  frankness, 
such  truth  that  we  immediately  think  of  Solimena  as 
studying  Domenichino's  frescoes  in  the  chapel  of  San 
Januarius  of  the  Cathedral.     It  is  all  so  pleasing  that 


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Alina 


Fountain,  Villa  Nazionale,  Naples 


Alina 


The  Cloisters  of  San  Martino,  Naples 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE 


we  feel  inclined  to  be  more  indulgent  than  the  President 
de  Brosses  when  he  said:  "If  there  had  been  only 
Solimena  and  I  in  the  world,  he  would  never  have 
earned  fifty  sous  with  his  insipid  manner  and  his  com- 
positions lacking  all  signs  of  genius."  We  would  have 
given  him  at  least  a  hundred  sous! 

At  the  Gesu  we  find  Solimena  again,  this  time  beside 
his  predecessors  Stanzioni,  Ribera,  and  Corenzio,  and 
his  superiority  over  them  is  seen  at  once.  The  pic- 
ture of  Heliodore  is  the  work  of  a  bom  painter  who  had 
the  misfortune  to  come  into  the  world  late,  when  all 
artistic  self-respect  was  lost.  Since  we  are  in  the 
square  of  the  Gesu  and  have  just  left  that  of  San  Do- 
menico  we  must  glance  at  the  obelisks  which  decorate 
it.  They  are  about  all  that  is  left  of  the  architecture 
of  the  epoch  of  the  viceroys.  If  it  could  not  express 
itself  otherwise  than  this,  what  wisdom  it  showed  to 
keep  still!  Take  a  beautiful  nouveau-art  guilloche- 
handled  seal  for  luxurious  letter  paper  or  a  sumptuous 
heavy-topped  umbrella  handle,  such  as  we  give  to 
brides  when  we  want  to  make  an  impressive  wedding 
present,  stand  it  up  on  your  table,  and  you  will  have  a 
representation  of  these  monuments  which  make  the 
most  deplorable  effect  imaginable  before  the  rusticated 
fagade  of  the  Gesu  and  the  Norman  apse  of  San 
Domenico. 

San  Paolo,  as  we  have  seen,  was  built  behind  the 


112  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

columns  of  the  Dioscuri.  Other  columns,  imitations, 
are  lined  along  with  the  originals.  The  interior  has  the 
same  profusion  of  the  paintings  of  Solimena,  Corenzio, 
and  Stanzioni  in  their  respective  places  and  always  the 
same  architectural  nullity.  The  same  is  to  be  said  of 
the  insignificant  fagade  and  of  certain  portions  of  the 
churches  of  Sansevero  and  Sosio,  where  the  windows, 
framed  in  vermicelli,  lead  you  to  look  at  the  paintings 
on  the  ceiling.  San  Lorenzo,  like  so  many  other 
churches,  has  almost  disappeared  between  houses,  and 
we  know  that  the  nave  of  that,  too,  was  sacked.  At 
the  Carbonara,  so  curious  at  the  head  of  its  steps,  one 
entire  chapel  was  given  up  to  Vasari,  which  must  have 
been,  at  that  time,  the  height  of  luxury.  But  must  we 
not  forgive  him  everything  on  account  of  his  History 
of  the  Painters  ?  He  was  a  great  malefactor,  but  with 
such  good  intentions  and  so  devoted  to  painting !  We 
have  seen  what  the  Baroque  made  of  Santa  Restituta, 
mutilating  the  venerable  basilica  and  overcharging 
what  remained  of  it.  The  Gerolomini  are  still  more 
encimibered.  Its  principal  ornament  is  a  Christ  in  the 
Temple  by  Giordano,  pupil  of  Ribera  and  for  whom 
Brosses  shows  an  indulgence  that  all  of  us  cannot  share. 
Then,  at  length,  at  Santa  Maria  la  Nuova  we  find 
the  work  of  Santafede  the  Elder,  and  of  Simone  Papa 
the  Younger,  and  Imparato,  contemporaries  of  Ribera, 
his  imitators  and  his  servitors. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  113 

On  writing  this  the  pen  falls  from  my  hand;  but 
I  arouse  my  courage  to  sum  up  all  by  what  is,  perhaps, 
the  most  striking  example.  From  the  square  of  San 
Lorenzo,  which  cuts  into  the  Strada  d'  Tribunali,  an 
infamous  little  street,  full  of  filth  and  of  ill-smelling 
shops,  goes  down  toward  the  Strada  San  Biagio  de' 
Librai.  The  worst  and  dirtiest  element  of  Naples 
lounges  about  here  at  its  ease.  Going  along  this  alley, 
we  suddenly  come  upon  a  portico  shut  off  by  a  grille 
decorated  with  a  rusty  piece  of  sheet-iron  pierced  by  a 
thousand  holes.  Along  the  entire  length  of  this  rail- 
ing, the  steps  in  front  of  it  are  occupied  by  venders 
who  must  have  carried  on  their  business  here  for  a 
long  time.  To  enter  the  church,  it  is  necessary  to  go 
down  a  sort  of  blind  alley  more  abominable  than  the 
open  one  we  have  just  left.  At  the  end  of  it  a  custo- 
dian opens  the  door  to  our  knock  and  we  enter.  So  it  is 
that,  in  this  sordid  little  street,  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
poverty,  within  these  walls  whose  exterior  is  black  as 
the  infernal  regions  with  the  filth  of  twenty  lustres, 
we  find  a  very  orgy  of  gold.  One  great  nave,  without 
aisles,  a  ballroom  indeed,  is  bordered  by  chapels 
starred  with  marbles,  with  reliquaries  and  shining 
relics;  above  are  windows  ornamented  with  guilloche, 
and  framed  with  the  style  of  chariots  called  the  berlin, 
and  projecting  over  the  nave  are  bronze  lattice- work 
balconies.  High  up  at  the  end  of  the  church  the  monks' 


114  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

gallery  is  enclosed  by  the  same  trellis.  On  the  ceiling  is 
all  the  wealth  of  the  richest  palettes.  It  is  an  outpour- 
ing, a  dazzling  prodigality,  all  the  human  work  of  the 
people,  whose  cries  we  hear  through  the  walls,  is  for 
the  achievement  of  this  golden  orgy,  this  church,  sister 
of  all  the  others,  in  which  not  an  inch  of  stone  can  be 
seen,  wherein  there  is  not  a  comer  which  has  not 
absorbed,  like  the  others,  its  part  of  the  sacrifice. 
This  church  is  called  San  Gregorio  Armeno.  It  must 
be  seen  to  be  understood.  Lost  as  it  is  in  one  of  the 
lowest  quarters  of  Naples,  without  exterior  form  as  it 
is  without  glory,  the  least  known  of  all  the  churches  in 
the  city,  perhaps,  it  is  the  most  significant,  the  type. 
When  you  have  come  out  again  and  resumed  your 
slippery,  calamitous  walk,  you  will  find  yourself  able 
to  come  to  some  conclusions,  to  solve  at  least  the  first 
half  of  the  problem. 

As  for  sculpture,  there  is  none:  it  has  completely 
disappeared.  Architecture?  We  have  just  seen  that 
it  played  a  sort  of  cuckoo  game,  taking  possessi^on  of 
the  nest  of  others  to  save  the  trouble  of  building  its 
own.  We  see  it  installed  behind  old  f  agades  or  within 
ancient  walls  to  which  it  sometimes  adds  a  new  facade 
to  avoid  too  great  a  contrast  with  its  interior.  But 
the  composition  of  a  harmonious  building,  of  lines 
carefully  thought  out,  of  well-considered  detail,  in  fact, 
a  church  whose  situation  and  all  its  aspects  and  effects 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  115 

were  calculated  in  the  plans,  that  art  was  unknown 
here.  The  Neapolitan  builders  patched,  resoled, 
turned  their  garments  wrong  side  out,  but  they  de- 
livered nothing  new.  The  art  of  treating  stone  and 
marble  did  not  exist  amongst  them :  they  had  no  sense 
of  creating  beauty  in  their  trade.  To  them  stone  and 
marble  were  materials  of  utility,  not  of  artistic  ex- 
pression. 

We  ask  ourselves  to  what,  then,  was  architecture 
thus  sacrificed?  We  have  just  been  in  all  these  poly- 
chrome churches,  seen  their  pictures  and  frescoes. 
But  what  we  have  not  looked  at  is  their  architectural 
detail.  Everything  is  in  that.  It  explains  the  whole 
matter,  and  we  shall  understand  it  when  we  have  seen 
how  each  detail  of  this  decorative  work  is  absolutely 
and  always  subordinated  to  the  pictorial  effect.  This 
one  single  purpose  is  evident  in  each  marble,  each  gar- 
land, mosaic,  column:  To  draw  the  eye  toward  the 
ceiling,  where  shines  the  full  beauty  of  the  great 
work.  Each  detail  is  prepared  and  fixed  to  declare 
this  beauty.  The  church  itself  is  no  more  than  an 
enormous  frame  for  the  painter's  work.  At  the  end 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  fashionable  gift  was  a 
small  panel,  no  larger  than  a  snapshot.  This  tiny 
panel  was  mounted  at  the  very  back  of  an  elaborately 
engraved,  cubic,  golden  box.  Such  are  the  churches 
of  Naples;  and  such,  on  a  larger  scale,  is  the  painting. 


ii6  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

At  their  bases  the  columns  are  simply  wrought,  long 
shafts  of  marble  with  no  excess  of  sculptured  detail. 
As  the  eye  searches  higher,  it  encounters  a  slight 
elaboration  of  decorative  carving,  enhanced  by  varie- 
gated colourings.  At  the  cornice  shine  overhanging 
masses  of  gold,  having  no  other  reason  or  purpose  for 
being  than  their  appeal  to  one's  taste  for  the  beautiful. 
Here,  too,  the  windows  show  their  first  richness  of 
decoration.  One's  glance  is  soon  to  rest  on  the  ceiling ; 
one  must  be  prepared  for  it  by  a  prodigal  profusion 
of  carved  cupids  and  sculptured  garlands.  And  then 
.  .  .  the  arch.  What  an  outburst  of  beauty,  leaping 
to  meet  the  eye !  Whole  trees  seem  to  have  been  im- 
mersed in  baths  of  fluid  gold,  and  then  rewrought  and 
fashioned.  Between  their  branches  a  score  of  random 
open  spaces  appear.  And  through  these  spaces  the 
brush  has  let  flow  its  rivers  of  carmine,  ochre,  emerald, 
white,  and  rose  .  .  .  overpowering  colour,  colour! 
What  bent  backs,  twisted  limbs,  contorted  faces! 
It  cannot  be!  One  looks  again,  more  carefully.  This 
distorted  image  is  a  martyr,  that  exaltation  represents 
an  Assumption,  the  defiant  distortion  is  a  Crucifixion. 
But  they  are  all  set  forth  with  an  incomparable  genius 
for  brutal  effect.  Never,  perhaps,  did  one  art  so 
compel  all  others  to  submit  to  its  despotism.  Sculp- 
ture has  disappeared,  montunental  architecture  counts 
for  nothing,  since  there  no  longer  is  any  but  decorative 


THE  TRI UMPH  O  F  THE  BA  ROQ  UE  117 

architecture,  that  is  to  say  a  mere  frame  for  the  paint- 
ing. Everything  is  subservient,  bowing  itself  low, 
working  for  the  glory  and  good  fortune  of  the  painters. 
Do  they  show  themselves  on  the  heights  of  such  sacri- 
fices as  they  demand  of  their  brothers?  We  shall 
see  in  an  instant,  and,  in  the  meantime,  think  of  their 
wonderful  genius  for  directing,  their  abilities  for 
organization,  their  unsurpassed  commercial  faculties! 
Thanks  to  their  assiduous  exercise  of  these  aptitudes, 
after  a  few  years  the  painters'  was  the  only  artistic 
profession  that  counted  in  this  world. 

Listen  to  Misson  in  the  eighteenth  century: 
"There  are  few  beautiful  church  facades  at  Naples. 
All  the  beauty  is  within.  Vaulting,  panelling,  walls, 
everything  is  either  coated  with  marbles,  with  precious 
and  artistic  inlaid  work,  or  with  coffers  in  bas-reliefs, 
and  joinery  gilded  and  enriched  with  the  paintings  of 
the  most  famous  painters.  On  all  sides  one  sees  no- 
thing but  jasper,  porphyry,  mosaics  of  every  sort, 
and  masterpieces  of  art.  I  have  visited  twenty-five 
or  thirty  of  these  superb  edifices;  one  is  constantly 
filled  with  surprise  in  going  about  in  them.  If 
it  were  possible  to  unite  eight  or  ten  of  them  into 
one  that  was  well  arranged  with  regularity  and 
taste,  it  would  be  the  most  magnificent  thing 
imaginable." 

That  is  an  opinion  of  the  churches  of  Naples  two 


ii8  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

hundred  years  ago.     Here  is  one  of  the  present  time: 
that  of  Signor  Salvatore  di  Giacomo : 

"The  churches,  ruled  by  a  new  architectonic  idea, 
have  their  inner  walls  covered  by  marbles  and  stuc- 
coes, and  the  very  marbles,  with  a  happy  audacity, 
covered  by  a  polychrome  decoration.  Such  is  the 
Gesu,  which  preserves,  it  is  true,  the  rusticated  fagade 
of  the  austere  palace  of  Prince  de  Saleme,  but  whose 
large  interior,  in  the  form  of  a  Greek  cross,  is  dressed 
with  bronzes  and  brilliant  marbles.  Such  is  the  new 
church  of  San  Paolo,  built  upon  the  foundations  of  the 
Temple  of  Castor  and  Pollux.  Such  is  the  church  of 
the  Gerolomini,  opposite  the.Duomo,  whose  sacristy  is 
a  veritable  and  rare  picture  gallery  (no,  a  decidedly 
ordinary  one!),  and  which  has.  scattered  through  its 
chapels  and  tightly  held  in  its  framed  ceilings,  the  pic- 
tures of  Imparato,  of  Luca  Giordano,  and  of  Matteis, 
the  frescoes  of  Corenzio,  of  Ribera,  and  of  Francesco 
Solimena,  as  well  as  the  statues  of  Cosimo  Fansaga. 
Although  Brescian  by  birth,  Fansaga  lived  so  long  and 
did  so  much  work  in  Naples  that  he  may  be  ranked 
among  the  principal  artists  whom  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury covered  with  favours.  It  is  true  that  in  the  de- 
velopment of  Naples  this  century  cannot  be  said  to 
have  brought  any  decorative  formula  completely 
different  from  those  spread  abroad  there  by  the 
Renaissance.     But,   unhappily   for  those  noble  and 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  119 

earlier  documents,  the  decorations  of  the  seventeenth 
century  were  applied  as  much  as  possible  not  only  to 
hide,  but  to  efface,  even  to  destroy  the  noblest  traces 
of  their  predecessors.  So  it  was,  in  the  rage  for  repairs, 
encouraged  especially  by  the  Regent  Barrionuevo  and 
which  he  preached  like  a  new  crusade,  that  in  the 
Carmelite  church,  in  San  Pietro  a  Maiella,  even  in  the 
Duomo,  in  San  Lorenzo,  San  Domenico,  and  San  Eligio, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  most  notable  of  the  Angevin 
churches,  was  accomplished  the  disappearance  of  the 
Gothic  ogees  and  the  rotmd  arches  of  the  Renaissance, 
the  fine  double  windows,  the  severe  altars,  even  the 
pavements  with  bands  ornamented  with  blazons  or 
with  portrait  and  symbolical  figures  of  which  the 
humble  but  learned  ceramist  of  Umbria  and  of  Tus- 
cany had  woven,  so  to  speak,  their  multi-coloured  and 
brilliant  carpets  in  the  suggestive  shadows  of  the 
chapels.  Suddenly  everything  was  changed.  Here, 
where  had  been  the  bare,  grey  stone  or  frescoes,  ap- 
peared stuccoes,  volutes,  abundant  ornaments,  and 
marble  draperies.  No  longer  did  the  fine  stems  of 
slender  columns  rise  toward  the  vaulted  ceiling  and 
meet  it  with  a  light  capital  that  seemed  like  the  chalice 
of  a  flower.  More  than  twice  as  big,  the  columns  were 
covered  with  garlands  and  flutings,  while  stucco  cor- 
nices rested  upon  the  ogees  of  the  windows  and  upon 
the  lintels  reinforced  and  covered  with  roses.     A  band 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


of  plump  angels  comes  flying  in  from  all  sides,  forming 
groups  in  every  comer,  creeping  over  the  pediments 
and  seeming  to  fill  the  nave  and  the  transepts  with  the 
flutter  of  their  wings  and  their  silvery  laughter.  The 
vaulting  disappears  under  a  coffered  sky  or  becomes 
an  oval  or  a  square  flat  background,  in  either  case, 
covered  with  anecdotal  paintings.  Our  feet  no  longer 
stub  against  the  rude  blazoned  stones  which  formerly 
covered  the  tombs.  Upon  the  smooth  and  even  pave- 
ment, arranged  for  the  most  delicate  step,  are  bril- 
liantly polished  and  multi-coloured  marbles,  spread 
out  in  large  and  exuberant  designs.  Our  attention, 
claimed  on  all  sides  by  such  abundant  and  varied  de- 
coration, had  no  time  to  fix  itself;  statues,  mausoleums, 
pictures,  medallions,  rich  lamp  holders,  enormous, 
sculptured  candelabra,  precious  and  triumphal  altars, 
balusters  leave  us  nothing  to  do  but  to  gaze  in  an 
ecstasy  of  wonder  at  such  lavish  riches.  And  what 
name  can  be  given  to  our  sensations  when  the  majestic 
organs,  over  doors  surcharged  with  angels  and  radia- 
tions, send  their  solemn  voices  forth  through  their 
gilded  tubes,  seeming  to  awaken  all  these  treasures  and 
set  them  in  motion?" 

Signor  Giacomo,  this  epic  singer  of  Naples-  con- 
cludes: "  The  seventeenth  century  in  Italy  will 
mark  the  metamorphose  of  every  Parthenopean 
monument." 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE 


Nevertheless,  here  before  our  eyes  stands  the  Castel 
deir  Ovo,  a  military  citadel  constructed  according  to 
all  the  rules  and  with  all  the  talents  of  art  not  only 
respected,  but  extended  by  the  viceroy  Pedro  de  To- 
ledo. Here,  in  1600,  Domenico  Fontana  built  the 
large  Royal  Palace  whose  interior  is  often  so  serious 
and  in  such  good  taste  as  to  put  the  churches  to  shame. 
Here  is  the  Palazzo  Maddaloni,  by  Fansaga  a  severe 
and  honest  work.  Here,  too,  is  the  Museum,  also  by 
Fansaga.  Such  works  are  far  from  announcing  the 
weakness  of  an  art.  Did  Naples  call  a  halt,  then,  in 
the  decadent  metamorphoses  ?  How  are  we  to  believe 
that,  in  those  days  of  scant  liberty,  that  the  paint- 
ers had  the  faculty  of  smothering  their  voices 
without  ever  having  silence  imposed  upon  them. 
Is  it  not  possible  that  in  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years  there  might  have  been  a  viceroy  who  loved 
something  else  than  painting?  Fontana  and  Fan- 
saga are  here  to  demonstrate  that  the  genius  of 
architecture  still  lived.  It  was  used,  too,  but  in 
secular  building:  which  is,  perhaps,  the  secret  of 
things.  It  seems  that  there  was  a  sort  of  settled  pur- 
pose, a  calculated  favour,  in  fact  a  political  system 
on  the  subject. 

Let  us  read  this  short  history,  as  beautiful  as  a 
legend.  If  we  read  it  well,  we  shall  understand  it 
better  than  by  twenty  pages  of  argument. 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


In  1646  the  Duke  of  Arcos  was  named  Viceroy  of 
Naples,  in  the  place  of  the  Duke  of  Medina  who  was 
recalled  to  Spain.  As  soon  as  he  returned  home,  the 
Duke  of  Medina,  associating  himself  with  his  brother- 
in-law,  John  of  Braganza  of  Portugal,  fomented  a 
revolution  in  his  province,  seeking  to  make  it  inde- 
pendent of  the  Kingdom  of  Spain.  He  used  the 
wealth  he  had  amassed  in  the  course  of  his  viceroyship 
to  create  a  personal  position  for  himself  in  his  own 
country.  That  has  ever  been  the  whole  policy  of 
viceroys.  The  monarchy  sends  them  to  raise  all  the 
wealth  possible  out  of  the  viceroyalty,  riches  destined 
to  serve  the  ambitions  of  the  king.  The  viceroy  raises 
twice  the  amounts  asked  of  him,  putting  the  extra  half 
aside  for  his  own  interests  when  his  term  of  office  shall 
be  expired.  Rome  had  her  proconsuls ;  Spain  had  her 
viceroys;  they  were  alike  in  all  essential  characteris- 
tics. The  cleverest  representative  of  the  Spanish 
crown  in  Naples  was  he  who  could  send  the  largest 
subsidies  to  Madrid — and  knew  how  to  keep  enough 
for  himself.  The  Neapolitan  people  were  squeezed  to 
the  point  of  exhaustion.  If  they  cried  out,  they  were 
massacred  somewhat  and  visited  by  the  clergy  who 
preached  to  them  assurances  of  divine  mercy  and 
eternal  life.  The  cleverness  of  the  viceroy  was  fur- 
ther employed  in  making  a  satisfactory  division  of 
substantial   emoluments   with   the   bishop   and   the 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  123 

monks  who  employed  the  arts  of  persuasion  they  were 
such  masters  of  in  the  renouncement  of  this  world's 
goods. 

Then,  in  1646,  Arcos  arrived.  He  levied  the  im- 
posts rigorously,  but  was  not  slow  in  finding  them 
insufficient.  Must  he  not  convince  Madrid  that  it 
had  made  a  good  choice  in  sending  him  ?  Why  not  re- 
turn the  collections  of  the  present  taxes  in  full  and 
invent  new  ones  ?  It  was  only  a  matter  of  establishing 
them  cleveriy,  at  the  right  moment.  Naples  was 
bubbling  just  then  with  a  quarrel  between  the  nobility 
and  the  clergy  over  Saint  Januarius.  The  attention 
of  the  country  is  distracted,  was  Arcos's  argument; 
let  us  profit  by  the  fact.  He  struck  with  a  tax  on  the 
food — the  only  food  almost — of  the  people:  their  fruit. 
But,  to  the  Duke's  great  surprise,  the  people  would  not 
accept  the  charge.  They  protested,  and,  being  in 
good  humour  over  the  affair  of  Saint  Januarius,  they 
began  their  campaign  with  sorry  jokes  and  comic  songs. 
Then  they  warmed  up  enough  to  press  rather  strongly 
around  the  duke  in  his  carriage,  and  at  length  they  set 
fire  to  the  vessel  that  was  about  to  sail  away  to  Spain 
with  the  money  that  had  been  paid  in  advance  on  the 
account  of  the  new  tax  by  the  farmers-general.  Not  a 
boat  of  Santa  Lucia  would  go  out  to  the  aid  of  the 
burning  vessel. 

Now,  really,  Arcos  could  not  let  such  a  form  of  the 


124  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

protest  go  unpunished.  But  whom  to  strike  was  the 
question.  Evidently  the  thoughtless  populace  had 
been  put  up  to  it  by  some  wiser  heads  than  theirs,  the 
leader  must  be  either  of  the  party  of  the  clergy  or  of 
that  of  the  nobility.  Was  there  not  a  quarrel  between 
the  two  at  that  moment  ?  Having  no  mind  to  lay  the 
blame  on  the  clergy,  the  viceroy  arrested  the  Duke  of 
Maddaloni,  the  head  of  the  nobility.  The  result  was, 
of  course,  that  the  Neapolitan  nobility  was  thereby 
instituted  protector  of  the  people.  The  people, 
however,  were  riot  overcome  by  the  honour.  Wanting 
a  chief  from  their  own  ranks,  they  chose  a  young  fish- 
seller  from  Amalfi,  Tommaso  Aniello.  Masaniello, 
famous  for  his  gift  of  gab  and  for  his  gaiety,  had  a  wife, 
from  Pozzuoli,  who,  one  day,  tried  to  smuggle  some 
flour  into  Naples  in  the  form  of  a  baby  in  swaddling 
clothes.  Her  fraud  detected,  she  was  put  into  prison' 
and  Masaniello  had  to  sell  his  boat  and  his  nets  to  get 
her  out.  From  that  day,  he  neither  fished  nor  sang 
any  more;  but  he  talked  and  his  popular  eloquence 
soared  into  revolutionary  imprecations.  The  people 
pressed  about  him  on  the  street  comers,  growing  more 
and  more  enthusiastic  over  his  fiery  speech,  further 
animated  by  his  worthy  efforts  to  preclude  any 
possibility  of  disappointing  himself  or  his  brothers, 
until,  and  at  no  great  length  of  time,  either,  the  resist- 
ance had  a  leader  and  could  move. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  125 

The  day  of  the  Feast  of  Carmel,  the  fermenting 
crowd  gathered  in  the  square  of  the  Mercato  Vecchio, 
there  where  centuries  before  Conradin  was  beheaded 
by  the  order  of  the  Angevin  conqueror  Charles  I., 
where  the  gibbet  was  standing,  where  the  convent  of 
the  Carmelites  still  extends  its  walls  of  a  veritable 
fortress.  With  Aniello  at  its  head,  the  crowd  moved 
on  to  the  Ducal  Palace  before  which  it  raised  a  hubbub 
against  Arcos.  The  Duke  understood  the  matter  ac- 
cording to  his  lights:  Maddaloni  was  in  prison;  the 
Archbishop  could  not  be  other  than  satisfied,  since 
he  was  in  the  way  of  having  his  dispute  over  Saint 
Januarius  argued  out  with  Maddaloni;  therefore  the 
people  must  be  the  instrument  of  the  party  of  the 
imprisoned  Duke,  the  nobility.  This  is  what  Arcos 
made  clear  to  the  Archbishop  who,  nevertheless,  re- 
mained prudent,  waiting  to  see  what  was  to  come. 
Probably,  he  said,  the  effervescence  would  subside  of 
itself.  No  doubt  it  would  have  done  so  if  news  had 
not  arrived  from  Palermo  that  the  people  there  had 
revolted  to  so  good  purpose  that  they  had  forced  the 
viceroy  to  abolish  the  impost.  Again  the  Neapolitan 
populace  rallied  around  Masaniello  who  had  become  a 
decided  force  in  the  city.  But  intrigue  was  at  work. 
For  whose  benefit  was  he  working;  was  he  going  to 
work  for  the  clergy,  for  the  viceroy,  for  the  nobility? 
At  first  Aniello  had  thought  only  of  working  for  him- 


126  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

self  and  for  his  brothers,  the  poor  and  overtaxed  Nea- 
politan ;  but  by  this  time  he  is  closely  surrounded.  The 
7th  of  July  a  convoy  of  fruit  arrives  from  Pozzuoli. 
The  collection  officers  stop  it,  claiming  the  tax. 
Among  the  scolding  conladini  is  the  brother-in-law  of 
Masaniello.  He  overturns  his  entire  cart  of  figs,  say- 
ing, "I  give  them  with  a  vengeance!"  Stones  begin 
to  fiy,  the  city  is  in  riot.  Masaniello  runs  to  the  Mer- 
cato  and  sings  a  revolutionary  hymn  which  he  ends  with 
the  lawful  cry:  "Long  live  the  King.  Death  to  bad 
government."  And,  at  the  same  time  the  bells  of 
Carmel  ring  out  the  signal  of  insurrection. 

The  Duke  breathed  more  freely.  From  the  moment 
that  revolution  comes  out  openly,  there  is  no  more  to 
fear  from  it.  When  a  people  respect  their  king,  they 
respect,  their  passions  having  cooled,  his  representative. 
Yet  here  was  a  procession,  preceded  by  children  carry- 
ing black  flags,  and  led  by  the  Carmelites,  advancing 
toward  the  palace  under  the  windows  of  which  Masani- 
ello and  his  brothers  shout  death  and  brandish  the 
unclean  bread  they  must  eat  for  nourishment.  Arcos 
appears  upon  his  balcony,  and  all  the  rotten  tomatoes 
of  Naples  make  an  aureole  about  his  head.  Pale  with 
rage  and  fear,  he  flees  while  the  people  force  the  doors 
and  sack  the  palace.  Then  the  convent  in  which  Arcos 
finds  refuge  was  besieged.  The  Archbishop  saves  him 
by  talking  to  the  people, — always  respectful  before  the 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  127 

minister  of  God, — long  enough  for  him  to  get  away  and 
hide  at  San  Elmo.  There,  under  shelter,  he  organizes 
his  repression  and  lays  his  plot. 

In  the  meantime  the  people  named  Masaniello  their 
captain  general.  But  they  were  pretending  to  act 
always  in  the  name  of  the  King.  In  sacking  the  palace 
did  they  not  respect  the  throne  room  and  the  portrait 
of  Charles  V.  ?  Masaniello  proclaimed  his  resolution 
to  keep  always  within  the  law.  To  protest  their  loy- 
alty has  always  been  the  absurdity  of  revolutionaries. 
Arcos  put  forward  the  Archbishop,  and  at  the  end  of  a 
few  days  the  revolution  became  royal  and  episcopal 
against  the  nobility.  It  was  turned  to  the  profit  of 
the  King,  thanks  to  the  Church. 

Masaniello  might  organize  his  men,  arm  and  lead 
them ;  he  might  appear  on  his  tribune,  red  cap  upon  his 
head,  legs  and  feet  bare,  striped  drawers  upon  his 
thighs,  that  is  in  the  national  costtune ;  he  might  punish 
with  justice,  recompense  with  equity,  and  fix  the  price 
of  bread.  But  he  and  his  cause  were  lost,  for  his  pur- 
pose was  to  keep  within  legal  right.  Did  he  not  go  so 
far  as  to  ask  his  brothers  to  disarm  because  the  Duke 
had  agreed  to  all  their  demands  ?  They  cried  out  that 
they  had  no  confidence  in  Arcos's  promises.  He  was 
scandalized  by  such  distrust.  Yet  to  Arcos's  mind  he 
went  too  fast,  and  an  attack  directed  against  him 
rearoused  all  his  fear. 


128  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Arcos  retired  to  Benevento,  leaving  the  field  free  to 
the  Archbishop  who  undertook  to  bring  the  aflfairto  a 
close.  Naples  was  then  in  the  hands  of  the  priests  who 
smother  the  revolution  in  embracing  it.  Masaniello, 
the  poor  fisherman,  was  dressed  up  in  clothes  embroid- 
ered with  silver,  and  by  a  symbolical  act  which  would 
have  been  dangerous  if  the  Archbishop  had  not  known 
his  people,  a  gold  chain  was  placed  around  his  neck. 

Thus  consecrated  by  the  Church,  Masaniello  became 
the  defendant  of  order,  agent  of  the  King  whose  pater- 
nal care  he  proclaimed  continually.  He  was  useful  to 
calm  his  brothers,  and  when  he  was  no  longer  needed 
he  could  be  suppressed.  The  poor  fellow  writhed  in 
his  contradiction.  He  had  been  persuaded  that  his 
duty  was  to  make  the  King  respected,  hence  law  and 
order  must  be  maintained,  even  with  severity.  But 
his  brothers  implored  him  to  have  pity.  Had  he  not 
signed  a  treaty  with  the  Duke,  through  the  intervention 
of  the  Archbishop,  delegating  to  him  the  power  in  the 
name  of  the  King  ?  But  had  he  not  promised  to  deliver 
his  brothers?  He  was  torn  between  rage  and  love. 
One  day  he  dealt  out  punishment  implacably ;  the  next 
he  tore  off  his  tinsel  and  declared  that  he  would  wear 
nothing  but  his  fisherman's  cap  and  drawers.  Arcos 
and  the  Archbishop  saw  the  madness  that  was  coming 
over  him  and  knew  that  they  had  nothing  to  do  but 
wait  the  propitious  moment. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  129 

Crushed  with  honours,  frightened  with  responsi- 
bilities, torn  between  loyalty  and  revolution,  Aniello 
mounted  the  pulpit  of  San  Gennaro  and  talked  and 
talked,  since  every  one  so  loved  to  hear  him!  He 
preached  appeasement  and  good  feeling.  Then,  in  the 
midst  of  all  that  tenderness,  he  had  a  gleam  of  reason ; 
he  shouted,  "  We  are  abused,  made  use  of,  I  am  but  the 
laughing-stock  of  our  enemies!  I  die  assassinated!" 
He  was  carried  away  in  his  delirium.  Another  push 
and  the  affair  was  over.  He  was  sent  back  into  the 
pulpit,  almost  by  force,  and  there  another  access  of 
madness  finished  him.  The  shirri,  waiting  close  by, 
sprang  upon  him  and  killed  him.  The  people,  un- 
grateful as  ever,  had  no  thought  for  what  their 
Tommaso  had  been  to  them,  only  cherishing  bitterness 
against  Aniello  the  friend  of  their  tyrants.  The  clergy 
dwelt  upon  his  severity  as  dictator.  The  next  day 
the  people  offered  his  head  to  the  viceroy  who  went  to 
the  cathedral  to  thank  God  and  the  Archbishop  who 
had  worked  so  well.  At  Masailiello's  funeral  the 
clergy,  the  nobility,  and  Arcos  rivalled  one  another  in 
the  honours  they  paid  him  for  having  led  the  revolu- 
tion to  such  an  absolute  failure.  And  then  the  taxes 
were  collected. 

If  you  want  to  feel  something  of  the  vibrations  of  the 
Neapolitan  soul,  the  childish  soul  of  which  Masaniello 
was  the  type,  you  must  not  be  afraid  of  walking  amid 


130  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

the  filth  of  the  Mercato  Vecchio.  Here  Conradin 
perished,  here  the  gibbet  was  in  use,  here  Masaniello 
talked.  Here  rises  the  Castel  del  Carmine,  the  fortress 
which  was  once  the  convent  ally  of  the  people.  The 
great  sordid  piazza,  or  largo,  as  they  say  in  Naples,  is 
still  surrounded  by  high  pink  and  yellow  tenements 
hung  with  rags.  On  all  sides  little  streets  open  into  it, 
alleys  into  which  only  foreigners  dare  to  trust  them- 
selves: the  Neapolitans  avoid  them  to  this  day. 
Loitering  about  here,  how  well  we  learn  to  know 
Masaniello  and  his  brothers:  poor  fellows  who  have 
nothing  in  the  world,  stripped  of  judgment  cleaner 
than  of  anything  else,  supremely  simple,  childlike, 
whose  revolutions  begin  with  some  sort  of  farce  and 
lead  to  upholding  the  popular  respect  for  the  estab- 
lished power,  the  naive  people  who  expect  to  realize 
such  a  contradiction  as  a  legal  revolution.  They  are 
not  a  fierce  people,  their  needs  are  so  few.  They  dine 
on  an  orange  and  sleep  in  their  largo.  God  protects 
them ;  they  tell  Him'so  until  one  is  tired  of  hearing  them. 
They  believe  in  everything  and  in  everybody,  turn  by 
turn ;  in  the  Duke,  the  Bishop,  and  in  Masaniello.  The 
Bishop  has  the  greatest  prestige.  Was  he  not  able  to 
conquer  Tommaso  himself?  The  Bishop  made  a  bar- 
gain with  the  King.  "  Give  me  money,"  he  said,  "and 
I  will  give  you  the  people."  The  King  accepted.  The 
Bishop's  promise  of  paradise  enabled  him  to  deUver 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  131 

the  souls.  The  wandering  sheep  returned  to  the  fold. 
God  blessed  them.  The  fold,  of  course,  is  the  Church, 
and  for  consolation  it  was  made  pleasanter  to  rest  in. 
And  what  about  funerary  monuments  ?  Undoubtedly 
they  are  sad  and  possibly  perilous.  One  never  knows 
to  what  point  a  dead  body  may  become  dangerous. 
You  know,  too,  that  it  is  really  painful  to  look  from 
some  dingy  hole  at  a  magnificent  church  with  splendid 
portal  and  decorated  walls.  Let  us,  therefore,  con- 
centrate our  splendours  around  the  altars!  So  our 
men  will  be  filled  with  peaceful  sentiments  from  the 
moment  they  enter  the  church  and  will  come  at  once 
to  submit  themselves  to  the  Divine  Will,  and  not  for 
revolt ;  to  implore,  not  to  demand.  As  they  approach 
their  eyes  will  behold  all  the  shining  gold,  all  the  deco- 
rations; their  eyes  will  blink,  overcome  with  wonder, 
they  will  fall  upon  their  knees  before  this  brilliance  so 
far  beyond  their  reach.  Then  from  the  pulpit  will  fall 
these  words:  "God  opens  His  house  to  us,  my  broth- 
ers. His  magnificent  temple,  worthy  of  His  own 
splendour,  is  your  dwelHng.  You  are  His  children. 
He  gives  you  His  treasures.  Come  one,  come  all. 
Rest  from  your  miseries  upon  His  bosom.  God's 
house  is  yours!"  At  home  in  God's  house!  What  a 
thought ! 

It  was  no  small  matter  to  embellish  this  house, 
whither  the  people  were  called  to  pass  their  days,  to 


132  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

give  themselves  up  to  participating  in  a  luxury  that 
they  could  never  create  for  their  own  use,  to  possess 
it,  in  fact.  Their  hovels  were  wretched,  but  the 
Church  which  God  shared  with  His  children  was  so 
beautiful !  Never  could  they  have  enough  of  the  gold, 
of  the  marbles,  of  the  pictures  of  beautiful  women, 
nude  or  draped  with  silk,  just,  so  the  people  said, 
like  those  of  the  palace.  The  mastery  over  the  people 
was  there,  in  the  church,  where  the  appeased  lazzarone, 
rocked  in  his  sleep,  resigned  himself  to  all  that  was 
decided  upon  for  the  glory  of  the  throne  and  of  the 
altar,  all  that  was  arranged  to  bleed  him  between 
the  viceroy  and  the  Bishop,  in  their  mighty  palaces, 
as  sumptuous  as  temples,  over  there  behind  the  tow- 
ers of  Castle  Nuovo  and  Castel  dell*  Ovo  and  under 
the  cannons  of  San  Elmo. 

What  profit  did  the  painters  gain  from  the  magnifi- 
cent field  thus  given  them  to  cultivate,  for  the  honour 
of  their  art  which  Raphael  was  at  that  moment  carry- 
ing to  the  supreme  rank?  San  Martino  is  going  to 
furnish  the  answer  to  this  second  term  of  our  problem. 

In  the  days  in  which  we  have  been  going  about  the 
city  there  has  not  been  an  hour  when,  raising  our  noses, 
we  have  not  found  the  hill  of  San  Elmo  in  front  of  us. 
From  everywhere  one  sees  the  sharp  mass  projecting 
towards  the  sea,  a  sort  of  comer  that  the  mountain 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  133 

Sticks  into  the  heart  of  the  human  invasions.  Never- 
theless man  has  climbed  it  and  settled  upon  it.  At 
first  for  pleasure:  the  Angevins  had  a  shooting-box 
there.  Robert  the  Wise  was  persuaded  by  his  son, 
young  Charles  the  Illustrious,  Duke  of  Calabria,  the 
father  of  Joan  I.,  to  give  the  lodge  and  its  surroundings 
to  the  Carthusians.  Robert  then  built  a  little  at  one 
side  and  above  the  convent,  the  fortress  which  made 
Naples  almost  impregnable.  Seen  from  below,  citadel 
and  monastery  form  but  one  imposing  whole  whose 
boldness  is  greatly  admired  by  puerile  men.  The 
Carthusian  monastery  we  see,  however,  is  not  that  of 
Robert  the  Wise,  but  Fansaga's  master  work,  accom- 
plished in  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
After  trying  to  browse  over  barrens,  what  a  joy  it  is  to 
come  upon  pasturage !  In  the  city  there  is  not  a  build- 
ing of  this  epoch  in  which  we  can  see  anything  but 
what  it  lacks.  Here  Fansaga  conceived  and  executed 
a  complete  work,  a  work  done  for  himself  as  much 
as  for  the  painters.  That  Lombard  had  been  wisely 
trained.  To  this  day  his  edifice  may  be  taken  for  a 
model.  The  general  arrangement  shows  wonderful 
logic  and  cleverness.  Courtyards,  corridors,  sanctu- 
aries, cells,  cloisters,  dependencies;  all  are  arranged 
with  the  truest  taste  and  most  practical  sense  of  fitness. 
Of  course  Fansaga  had  to  hide  the  architectural 
beauties  of  the  church;  the  painters  would  share 


134  ^  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

nothing  with  him  and  what  they  abandoned  to  him 
was  merely  interior  decoration  destined  to  show  off 
their  work  to  better  advantage.  In  the  halls  he  was 
freer  so  long  as  he  was  careful  to  save  ceilings  for 
the  painters  to  cover.  Around  the  cloister  the  cells, 
libraries,  and  assembly  rooms  are  arranged  with  judg- 
ment, plenty  of  space  and  light.  In  the  courtyards 
there  are  porticoes  both  sober  and  gay,  with  terraces 
here  and  there  and,  above  all,  the  admirable  cloister, 
not  great  certainly,  but  with  a  charm,  a  freshness,  a 
purity  of  grace  which  attains  almost  unto  veritable 
eloquence.  We  have  only  to  see  this  cloister  to  be  sure 
that  Fansaga  was  a  master.  He  who,  in  his  youth, 
had  seen  Pavia  and  all  the  works  of  Amadeo,  could 
give  rein  to  his  inspiration  here  with  no  need  either  to 
copy  or  to  cede  to  others.  He  understood  the  sky  and 
the  landscape,  the  immutable  sun  and  the  tormented 
earth.  At  Parthenope  he  built  a  convent  which  could 
not  offend  the  most  delicate  paganism. 

Today  a  Neapolitan  museum  is  installed  in  the 
monastic  halls.  The  Museo  San  Martino  is  the  Cama- 
valet  of  Naples.  One  can  pass  endless  hours  there 
questioning  little  things  which  talk  so  freely  to  him 
who  knows  how  to  make  them  speak.  There  are 
relics  and  documents  innumerable.  Murat's  cloak 
embroidered  with  bees  near  King  Bomba's  kepi,  a 
little  too  near  it,  in  fact.     The  tapir  masque  of  Ferdi- 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  135 

nand,  repulsive  in  its  beastiality  and  its  ugliness,  might 
pass  for  that  of  his  father  Charles  III.,  if,  farther  on, 
in  the  coarse  engravings  we  did  not  see  the  eyes  that 
show  us  the  difference  between  the  father  and  the  son. 
Here,  too,  is  the  worm-eaten  hat  of  Cardinal  Rufo  who 
caused  the  abominable  massacre  of  1799  when  the 
Parthenopean  Republic  disappeared.  See  the  beauti- 
ful and  melancholy  lance  carried  by  Charles  III.  from 
Portici  to  Santa  Lucia,  the  old  coach  which  Gari- 
baldi mounted,  in  i860,  when  he  benevolently  gave  to 
Savoy  a  kingdom  of  which  he  was  the  master  to  keep 
for  himself  or  to  sell  against  the  deliverance  of  Rome. 
Who  will  ever  sufficiently  praise  the  personal  abnega- 
tion, the  patriotic  sacrifice,  and  the  deep  foresight  of 
Garibaldi?  We  may  gaze  upon  souvenirs  of  all  the 
victims  of  the  Ferdinands  and  the  Francescos,  works 
of  the  Neapolitan  industries,  little  articles  of  daily 
life,  arms  and  jewels,  clothes,  certain  of  which  belonged 
to  Spanish  nobles,  and  an  infinite  ntmiber  of  pictures. 
Here  is  illustrated  all  the  life  of  Naples  and  Southern 
Italy  with  its  manners  and  its  costumes.  Among  all 
these  portraits  of  conspicuous  people  is  a  Ferdinand 
in  a  high  hat  and  a  Carolina  with  corkscrew  curls  which 
will  strike  you  with  repulsive  realism.  By  examining 
the  pictures  of  Naples,  you  may  pass  from  one  dynasty 
to  another  in  the  history  of  the  city.  As  we  look  upon 
Vesuvius,  in  a  childlike  representation  of  the  terror  it 


136  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

inspired  in  irruption  we  feel  a  more  eloquent  cry  of  the 
souls  of  the  frightened  people  than  any  view  of  ac- 
tual disaster.  Here,  too,  are  all  the  scenes  of  country 
life:  the  festa,  the  harvest,  pilgrimages,  and  tarantella. 
Everything  is  classified  in  perfect  order  and  taste,  with 
method  and  science.  The  Museum  of  San  Martino 
represents  the  very  core  of  Neapolitan  life.  In  its 
halls  only  can  one  understand  the  impressions  received 
in  the  streets.  These  thousand  bibelots  are  the  beads 
of  the  rosary  we  have  strung  in  the  alleys  of  San  Biagio 
and  the  Mercato  Vecchio.  We  now  see  the  life  of 
Naples  unfold  continuously  and  logically.  From 
Pompeii,  whose  streets  irresistibly  call  up  Palaeopolis, 
to  the  present  quarter  of  Pendino,  to  the  radiant 
Chiaia  the  Neapolitan  soul  is  seen  without  the  solu- 
tion of  continuity  and  by  its  popular  expressions,  by 
its  most  intimate  relics. 

The  entrance  to  the  church  is  most  astutely  man- 
aged. One  comes  to  it  from  behind.  First  there  is  a 
sombre  passage,  then  a  hall,  a  sort  of  chapter-room 
decorated  with  woodwork  below  and  frescoes  above. 
Farther  on  is  the  Treasure-room,  empty  today,  where 
we  see  Ribera's  masterpiece,  a  nobly  tragic  Descent 
from  the  Cross,  a  work  of  excellent  realism  in  spite  of 
its  extremes  and  of  really  meritoriously  audacious 
foreshortening.  On  the  ceiling  is  a  Judith  by  Gior- 
dano of  which  it  is  said  with  an  amazement  surely  not 


Alinari 

The  Descent  from  the  Cross  (Ribera), 
Church  of  San  Martino,  Naples 


Alinari 


The  Presepe,  Museum  of  San  Martino,  Naples 


Alinari 


Interior  of  the  Church  of  San  Martino,  Naples 


Alinari 


View  of  Naples  from  San  Martino 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  137 

caused  by  admiration  that  it  was  painted  in  twenty- 
four  hours.  Tintoretto  also  painted  quickly,  but  he 
painted  well,  too.  Time  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
case  in  painting.  We  would  have  given  Giordano  ten 
years  if  only  he  might  have  succeeded !  In  the  sacristy 
are  some  frescoes  by  Stanzioni  and  Arpino.  Now  you 
see  the  little  door  and  have  the  whole  church,  the  high 
nave  bordered  with  chapels  between  the  pillars.  The 
pillars,  all  covered  with  multi-coloured  marbles,  mount 
to  the  sunken  cornice  carved  and  overcharged  and 
prolonged  to  enclose  the  lunettes  which  Fansaga  de- 
signed as  so  many  frames  for  the  sunHght.  Even 
this,  flooding  the  church,  makes  in  itself  a  picture 
which  rivals  the  beauty  of  the  paintings.  Every- 
thing converges  toward  the  glory  which  is  made  of 
rays  of  stucco  gilded  upon  a  pavement  of  green,  red, 
and  white  marbles.  Ribera  here  appropriated  the  best 
part  of  the  church,  the  vaulting,  which  he  shared  with 
Lanfranco.  He  owed  him  something  for  his  aid  at  the 
time  of  the  expulsion  of  Domenichino.  Lanfranco  had 
the  Apostles,  and  Ribera  making  sure  of  the  best  for 
himself,  kept  the  Prophets  which  he  placed  in  the  pen- 
dentives,  giving  them  the  effect  of  gems  in  their  setting. 
Besides  these  there  are  the  Stanzioni  pictures  with  the 
beautiful  attitudes,  more  gentle  and  graceful  work  than 
that  of  his  master  Ribera,  and  so  clearly  influenced 
by  Van  Dyck  that  he  unites  all  the  partisans  of  the 


138  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

so-called  Flemish-Neapolitan  school.  In  the  choir  is 
a  Washing  of  the  Feet  by  Caracciolo,  pupil  of  the  Car- 
racci,  a  Last  Supper  by  Stanzioni,  the  company  stand- 
ing like  that  at  Urbino  by  Justus  Van  Gent  of  which 
Stanzioni  must  have  heard  and  whose  audacity  no 
doubt  pleased  Ribera's  disciple.  He  cannot  have 
understood  anything  of  it  but  the  astonishing  eflfect. 
There  is  another  Supper  by  Ribera,  some  frescoes  by 
Arpino,  and,  crowding  everything,  breaking  the  con- 
tortions, taking  down  the  swellings,  cutting  through 
soap-bubble  clouds  and  blowing  upon  legs  and  arms  of 
gold-beater's  skin  is  a  Nativity  by  Guido,  calm,  pure, 
its  colour  warm  and  deep.  Yet  Guido  Reni  was  not  a 
great  master;  he  was  only  honest  and  simple.  Never- 
theless, with  possible  exception  of  Ribera's  Descent 
from  the  Cross,  out  of  all  this  mass.  Guide's  work  is 
about  all  that  clings  to  the  memory. 

What  is  the  use  of  going  into  details !  It  is  not  the 
traveller's  part  to  assign  places,  single  out  preferences, 
or  distribute  prizes.  He  has  only  to  feel  beauty 
when  there  is  any,  to  co-ordinate  his  impressions  to 
draw  some  general  instruction  from  them.  Scattered 
throughout  the  city  and  reunited  upon  the  vaulting 
and  the  walls  of  San  Martino  we  find  all  those  who, 
like  poverty  upon  a  poor  world,  were  thrown  upon 
Naples  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century  in 
order  to  exploit  the  social  situation  which  the  Spanish 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  139 

regime  had  just  created.  Here  they  are :  Luigi  Roder- 
ico,  Corenzio,  Santacroce,  Spadaro,  Finogha,  Gar- 
giuho,  Pacecco  de  Rosa,  Caracciolo,  Falcone,  Santa- 
fede,  Imparato,  Arpino,  Stanzioni,  Lanfranco,  up  to 
Calabrese  and  Salvator  Rosa.  And  I  almost  forgot  to 
say  that  the  whole  band  is  bought.  What  a  shopful! 
Ribera  bosses  them  all.  A  beggar  as  a  child,  he  was 
determined  to  eat  where  he  had  known  hunger.  On 
the  death  of  Caravaggio,  in  1610,  he  left  Rome  where 
his  comrades,  Raphael's  assistants,  used  to  throw  him 
their  bread  crusts.  He  had  heard  that  work  was  to  be 
had  down  here  on  the  shore  of  the  Tyrrhenian  Gulf. 
He  hastened  to  it,  and  his  genius  as  an  organizer  won 
for  him  a  commanding  place  at  once.  Is  it  possible 
to  think  of  work  done  with  conscientiousness  by  this 
crowd  hungry  for  bread  and  for  everything  else  ?  To 
work  was  to  paint,  and  they  painted.  There  was  so 
much  to  do!  Was  there  any  time  to  think.?  What 
did  the  Spaniard  want?  Brilhancy,  shine,  dust  in  the 
eyes,  above  all  something  dazzling.  Ribera  and  his 
crowd  turned  out  the  thing  desired  in  abundance. 
Look  at  it  as  long  as  you  like,  you  will  not  see  either 
a  pose  or  a  movement  in  all  of  this  painted  world, 
dressed  and  undressed,  which  defines  a  character.  Is 
an  arm  raised,  if  it  were  a  leg  it  would  be  just  as  good. 
Does  a  man  smile,  he  might  as  well  cry.  Is  he  draped 
in  yellow,  blue  would  have  been  quite  as  fitting  to  the 


I40  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

anecdote.  Is  he  at  prayer,  his  companions  challenge 
him  to  fight.  If  he  is  seated  upon  a  cloud,  for  all  that 
he  is  doing,  he  might  better  be  on  a  bench.  Nothing 
is  anywhere  because  it  must  be.  Everything  is  re- 
duced to  brutal  eflect,  thrown  by  the  chance  of  a 
hurried  brush.  Nothing  has  been  asked  but  richness. 
To  be  sure,  Stanzioni  has  shown  some  audacity  in  his 
Last  Supper,  but  only  to  arouse  astonishment,  not  to 
the  better  express  his  conception  of  that  scene.  In  his 
Washing  of  the  Feet  Caracciolo  does  not  see  the  lines 
of  beautiful  nudes,  but  only  the  well-broken  folds  of 
his  draperies.  Giordano  applied  himself  to  awaken 
astonishment  by  see-sawing  architecture  in  which  he 
mingled  all  the  allusions  he  had  been  able  to  gather 
upon  Anjou  and  Aragon.  When  all  this  crowd  re- 
membered Caravaggio,  by  means  of  Ribera,  it  was 
to  imitate  his  vulgarity,  not  his  realism,  his  brutality, 
not  his  vigour,  his  anger,  not  his  passion. 

From  1600  to  about  1680,  Naples  became  the  do- 
main of  contractors  of  painting  by  the  mile,  by  the 
ton.  Giordano's  Judith,  painted  in  two  days,  is  the 
ideal  work  amongst  all.  In  two  days!  That  would 
produce  one  hundred  and  eighty  pictures  at  least  in  a 
year,  and  each  one  rushing  headlong  for  first  place, 
to  pick  up  the  crumbs  that  Ribera  scattered  gener- 
ously and  skilfully.  Suddenly,  however,  when  the 
orgy  was  at  its  height,  a  spectre  appeared.     A  poor 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  141 

little  man,  very  ugly  to  see,  modest,  loving  his  art  for 
itself  and  not  for  its  profits;  he  wanted  work,  too,  in 
the  city  offering  hospitality  to  painting.  He  asked  for 
a  small  place  at  the  banquet  to  which  he  would  bring, 
perhaps,  a  little  moderation,  some  reason.  What  a 
clamour  he  raised!  Did  not  the  crowd  know  that 
Domenico  Zampieri  against  whom  the  friends  of  Lan- 
franchi  had  already  had  such  trouble  to  defend  them- 
selves in  Rome?  They  had  been  so  tranquil  in  Rome 
until  he  came  to  stir  up  everything.  By  whom  was 
he  advertising  himself,  anyway?  With  Carracci  and 
Correggio.  Well,  Ribera,  too,  has  seen  Correggio  and 
Caracciolo  had  seen  Carracci.  He  need  not  make  so 
much  of  that!  What  had  he  done  himself  in  Rome? 
The  frescoes  of  the  Valle,  of  San  Luigi,  the  Saint 
Gerome  and  the  radiant  Diana.  They  were  sincere 
and  studied  art,  nothing  bloated,  nothing  to  "hit  you 
in  the  eye"  about  that,  was  it  the  same  he  thought  to 
introduce  into  Naples?  A  shiver  of  fear  ran  through 
the  veins  of  the  painting  crowd :  if  Domenico  succeeded, 
they  were  dead  men.  Viceroy,  bishop,  nobles,  people, 
once  they  had  seen  this  Domenichino's  work,  who 
could  believe  they  wotdd  want  any  more  of  Ribera's? 
Domenichino's  triimiph  would  be  Ribera's  fall:  no 
more  bread,  no  more  Naples.  Lanfranchi  knew  how 
it  would  be  and  hastened  down?  to  help  to  crush  the 
kill-trade. 


142  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

What  happened  was  abominable.  No  martyrdom 
was  ever  carried  on  with  greater  cruelty.  Guido  Reni 
had  forewarned  his  friend  Domenichino  of  what 
awaited  him  in  Naples.  The  gentle  Zampieri  would 
not  believe  it.  Those  young  men,  were  they  not  a 
little  bit  painters?  Well,  then,  when  they  saw  his 
efforts  and  the  conscience  he  put  into  his  work,  they 
would  be  disarmed,  would  they  not?  Anyway  one 
must  work!  He  had  been  offered  the  commission  of 
painting  the  frescoes  of  San  Gennaro,  could  he  refuse 
it?  The  answer  he  heard  was  in  howls  of  rage.  He 
went  to  work,  nevertheless,  but  found  himself  obliged  to 
paint  with  his  dagger  at  his  side.  What  he  did  by  day 
was  wiped  out  by  night.  Ashes  were  mixed  with  his 
tempera  to  become  apparent  only  when  dry  in  great, 
ugly  cracks  in  his  beautiful  work.  Then,  as  it  hap- 
pened, Vesuvius  had  an  eruption ;  the  people,  put  up  to 
it  with  diabolical  purpose,  declared  that  it  was  a  sign 
of  God's  displeasure  with  the  pictures  representing 
their  pet  saint  and  rushed  upon  them  and  their  author. 
Domenichino  escaped,  and  a  certain  calm  was  restored. 
Unable  to  conceive  either  the  deviltry  or  the  ignorance 
pitted  against  him,  Domenichino  then  believed  the 
excitement  over  and  conscientiously  returned  to  his 
work  and  to  his  assassination.  We  followed  this  cru- 
cifixion when  we  were  in  Rome.  Nowhere  but  at 
Naples  can  we  appreciate  the  horror  of  it.    To  feel  it 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  143 

we  must  go  to  the  Duomo,  after  having  seen  the  pic- 
tures of  San  Martino  and  all  the  other  churches,  and 
look  at  the  frescoes  and  the  panels  that  Domenichino 
was  making  there  when  they  killed  him. 

What  reason  they  had  to  tremble!  Even  to  this 
day,  it  seems  as  if  Naples  makes  an  effort  to  hide 
Domenichino.  His  panels  above  the  altars  of  Saint 
Januarius  are  scarcely  visible  behind  the  jeweller's 
work  and  the  paper  flowers.  One  is  obliged  to  look  a 
long  time  before  seeing  a  very  little;  but  what  one  sees 
at  length  is  true  beauty,  the  probity,  the  sincerity  of 
art,  the  radiant  truth  of  movement,  the  perfection  of 
pose,  and  all  the  moderation  and  control  of  the  brush. 
Domenichino  brought  to  Naples  that  which  the  Ri- 
bera  crowd  was  resolved  never  to  give  the  city.  Three 
generations  of  painters  would  scarcely  be  able  to  do 
all  there  was  to  do  if  they  should  work  as  he  worked, 
and  they  wanted  the  entire  harvest  themselves.  So, 
they  cried,  "Let  us  kill  him,"  calling  the  stone-masons 
to  join  them  in  the  murder.  The  tribes  of  Picchiati, 
Gisolfi,  Cavagni,  all  had  as  much  interest  as  the 
painters  in  the  perversion  of  the  Neapolitan  taste  and 
of  the  rabble  of  daubers  and  apprentices  about  them. 
It  was  to  be  free  of  any  better  influence  which  might 
interfere  with  their  doing  what  we  have  just  seen 
scattered  throughout  Naples  and  brought  together  in 
San  Martino  that  they  poisoned  the  painter  of  San 


144  ^  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Nilo,  the  immortal  realist  of  the  Diana  of  the  Villa 
Borghese! 

Surely  in  this  we  touch  the  rock-bottom  of  villainy. 
But  shall  we  say,  What,  here  are  six  centuries  through 
which  we  have  looked  in  vain  for  a  Neapolitan  school ; 
from  the  time  of  the  Angevin  Gothic  we  have  looked  in 
vain  for  a  personal  expression  of  art  in  the  Kingdom  of 
Naples,  and  when,  at  length,  we  find  it  we  villify  it. 
We  might  answer  that  the  fault  is  the  school's  and  not 
its  judges'  if  it  is  found  unworthy;  but  before  that 
we  should  answer  that  in  no  sense  could  the  Ribera 
mob  lay  any  pretensions  to  the  name  of  school.  Ri- 
bera syndicated  and  directed  a  troop  of  workmen 
banded  together  to  exploit  a  political  and  social  sys- 
tem; he  did  not  preside  over  the  unfolding  of  a  common 
ideal.  This  painting  cannot  even  find  shelter  under  the 
mantle  of  the  Baroque.  False  and  mean  as  was  the 
idea  of  the  Baroque,  even  that  is  absent  here.  In 
the  architectural  Baroque  there  was  a  general  concep- 
tion and,  though  we  must  condemn  it,  we  must  also 
understand  it,  whether  we  speak  of  the  sculptural 
Baroque  of  Bernini  or  that  of  the  pupils  of  Mazzoni. 
Painting  in  Naples  was  not  a  school,  but  a  phenomenon 
taken  up  as  it  was  by  young  men  who  wielded  the 
brush  not  by  vocation,  but  by  appetite,  because  it 
was  "good  times"  for  the  man  who  could  daub  paint. 
Ribera  may  have  had  technical  skill,  Giordano  may 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  145 

have  had  invention,  Stanzioni  may  have  had  a  certain 
sweetness  of  expression,  Arpino  elegance;  those  qual- 
ities were  put  out  to  commercial  service,  not  held  at 
the  command  of  inspiration.  Bernini  and  his  follow- 
ing created  space  which,  indeed,  is  something.  Ribera 
and  his  battalion  created  the  pictorial  industry.  They 
worked  to  eat,  which  may  be  honourable  if  one  does 
not  butter  one's  bread  by  assassination.  There  is 
nothing  artistic  in  that.  Let  Naples  call  them  the 
commercial  school  if  she  wants  to,  but  not  a  school  of 
the  art  of  painting. 

A  school?  To  create  one  the  troop  had  but  to  do 
what  we  were  doing  before  we  left  San  Martino.  Un- 
der the  balcony  where  we  were  taking  a  breath  of  air, 
Naples  lies  along  the  edge  of  the  blue  water  between 
her  two  capes,  before  the  radiant  and  solemn  Vesuvius. 
Over  the  water  is  the  great  mauve  arch  of  Capri,  like 
a  phantom  that  must  be  gliding  by.  Behind  are  the 
high  hills  of  the  Apennines,  Capodimonte  and  its 
foliage,  the  mountains  of  Caserta,  and  all  the  generous 
Campania,  ample  as  it  is  and  with  a  noble  impressive- 
ness  equal  to  the  line  of  the  sea  and  of  the  promonto- 
ries, a  worthy  sister  of  the  Gulfs  of  Baia  and  Sorrento. 
To  this  spectacle,  unequalled  in  the  world,  the  palpitat- 
ing soul  of  the  beautiful,  so  majestic  in  its  simplicity, 
so  full  of  Greek  feeling,  charged  with  memories  that 
must  stir  in  the  minds  of  the  most  ignorant  beholders — 


146  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

to  this  Ribera  obstinately  shut  his  eyes,  and  took  even 
greater  care  not  to  show  it  to  his  accomplices,  his 
workmen.  They  might  have  been  moved  by  it,  per- 
haps. Nor  did  the  Riberaites  ever  stop  before  Naples 
itself  and  her  animated  life,  in  which  such  an  artist  as 
Domenichino  met,  at  every  step,  the  movement  he 
sought  for  his  realism  and  which  he  turned  into  poetry, 
this  Naples  so  vibrating  with  the  very  colours  and  the 
passions  a  painter  must  long  to  fix  upon  his  walls! 
To  the  Ribera  manufacturing  company,  looking  about 
was  lost  time:  they  were  in  such  haste  to  paint  what- 
ever fancy  suggested  behind  their  shut  eyes,  inventing 
yellows  and  legs  according  to  the  reds  or  the  arms 
nearest  them,  combining  upon  the  spur  of  the  moment 
or  the  mood,  never  according  to  the  demands  of  the 
chosen  subject — but,  then,  the  subject,  too,  was  a  mere 
matter  of  chance. 

A  school?  How  much  more  likely  its  existence 
would  have  been  if  the  Ribera  crowd  had  lingered  in 
the  churches  on  Christmas  day  as  we  Hnger  this  after- 
noon in  the  lower  hall  of  the  Museum !  They  would 
have  met  with  a  thousand  examples  of  the  veritable 
masterpieces  of  the  popular  instinct,  models  always 
posing  under  the  eyes  of  those  who  can  respond  to  the 
expression  of  the  sentiments  of  others.  The  Neapoli- 
tan school?  It  is  wholly,  so  far  as  its  power  exists,  in 
this  Christ-in-the-Manger  of  San  Martino,  like  all  the 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BAROQUE  147 

others  with  which  the  city  was  filled  at  every  Christ- 
mas. The  expression  of  the  Neapolitan  school  was, 
and  is,  in  the  mountainous  landscapes,  in  the  porches, 
such  as  we  see  in  the  Tuscan  and  Umbrian  frescoes,  to 
shelter  the  Magi  and  the  shepherds ;  it  is  in  the  paths 
along  which  descend  the  popular  and  triumphant  pro- 
cessions; it  is  in  the  changeable  colours  of  the  contadini 
costiunes,  of  the  men  with  pointed  caps,  in  the  oxen, 
the  asses,  the  sheep,  the  geese  by  the  ponds,  the  climb- 
ing goats,  the  bemired  carts,  the  sleeping  shepherds, 
the  chestnut  trees,  the  evergreen  oaks,  and  all  that 
belongs  to  field  and  farm  appropriated  for  the  setting 
of  the  Divine  Child  held  in  outstretched  arms.  In 
these  small  wax  figures  dressed  in  the  most  surprising 
costiunes  and  the  most  perfect,  too,  since  they  are  an 
expression  of  the  obscure  genius  of  the  race,  is  the  germ 
of  all  that  a  school  can  aspire  to  express ;  that  is  to  say, 
a  conception  of  the  life,  a  personal  expression  of  the 
visible  world  and  the  hidden  world  of  the  heart.  The 
Neapolitan  soul  lives  in  the  presepes — those  wonderful 
cribs  for  which  Naples  is  famous — with  a  vigour,  a 
simplicity,  a  charm,  and  true  pictorial  instinct  never 
equalled. 

Poor  Naples!  She  possesses  a  unique  landscape  of 
such  grandeur  that  before  it  the  most  unimaginative 
of  men  feel  themselves  transported,  grown  greater, 
purified.     She  possesses  the  soul  of  a  brilliant  person- 


148  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

ality,  whose  exuberance  must  have  struck  the  blindest 
of  beholders.  And  when  a  generation  came  to  her 
which  had  the  means  of  expressing  its  impassioned 
manifestations,  that  generation  systematically  turned 
its  back  on  her.  Poor  Naples!  Too  beautiful,  ex- 
citing too  much  desire  to  possess  her,  smothered  in 
thanks  for  the  gifts  she  dispensed,  trampled  under- 
foot every  day  by  all  the  avaricious  hordes  that  were 
attracted  by  her  charms  and  who  never  found  peace 
but  as  a  means  of  exploiting  her  anew !  And  we,  the 
moment  we  step  out  on  her  balconies,  look  at  her  with 
eyes  full  of  admiration,  we  bow  before  her  majesty, 
forgetting  all  the  bands  of  evil-doers,  condottieri,  or 
painters,  all  disappear  from  our  forgiving  memories 
when  beautiful  Naples  smiles.  Besides,  she  holds  in 
her  bosom,  a  reparation  for  all  the  wrongs  she  has 
suffered  in  the  work  of  Domenichino,  which  alone  sur- 
vives all  the  rubbish  that  has  stunted  her  artistic 
growth  and  marred  her  virgin  beauty. 


Fifth  Day 

THE  PORCELAIN  CABINET 

Naples  \inder  tKe  Bourbons 

HE    War   of    the    Spanish    Succession 
brought  a  change  in  the  nationahty  of 
the  viceroys,  as  in  the  foreign  sover- 
eignty.    The  condition  of  the  king- 
dom,   however,    remained   the  same. 
Then,  in  1734,  after  twenty-seven  years  of  Austrian 
dominion,  Naples  found  her  independence,  lost  two 
hundred  years  before.     It  was  brought  to  her  by  a 

149 


150  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Spanish  prince  who  had  resolved  to  govern  her  on  his 
own  account  and  for  the  benefit  of  the  Kingdom  of 
Naples,  not  for  the  profit  of  the  King  of  Spain,  al- 
though he  expected  to  shelter  himself  well  under  the 
strength  of  his  father. 

Don  Carlos,  second  son  of  Philip  V.  de  Bourbon  and 
of  Elizabeth  Famese,  was  sent,  in  1732,  to  Parma  to 
occupy  the  duchy  belonging  to  his  mother.  That 
journey  was  but  a  stage  on  his  way  to  Naples,  to- 
wards which  he  set  forth  the  following  year.  The 
Infante,  aged  twenty-seven,  arrived  at  Naples  and, 
almost  without  protest  from  Imperial  representa- 
tives, made  his  entrance  through  the  Porta  Capuana 
to  revive  the  good  days  of  the  Magnanimous.  A 
collar  of  diamonds  and  rubies  offered  opportunely  to 
San  Gennaro  dictated  his  course  to  the  Cardinal  Arch- 
bishop Pignatelli.  During  the  joyous  outburst  of  the 
people,  Don  Carlos  read  an  edict  from  his  father  ceding 
to  him  his  rights  over  the  Two  Sicilies.  It  only  re- 
mained to  take  Sicily,  which  resisted;  but  the  thing 
was  done  the  following  year. 

Don  Carlos  de  Bourbon  was  King  of  Naples  while 
waiting  until  he  became  Charles  III.  of  Spain.  How 
was  he  to  be  numbered  as  a  King  Charles  of  Naples? 
The  matter  was  somewhat  complicated  for  his  sub- 
jects, at  least,  since  a  king  signs  his  own  name  only  in 
its  briefest  form.    Was  it  not  necessary  to  count  the 


THE  PORCELAIN  CABINET  151 

Charleses  from  the  national  Neapolitan  point  of  view  ? 
In  that  case  the  last  was  Charles  III.  of  Durazzo,  but 
that  would  be,  on  the  one  hand,  connecting  the  new 
monarch  too  directly  with  the  Angevins,  the  great 
enemies  of  the  Spanish  dynasty,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  showing  too  great  disdain  towards  the  descend- 
ants of  the  great  Emperor,  Charles  V.,  for  there  had 
been  three  emperors  bearing  the  name  of  Charles  in 
the  time  that  the  Austrian  viceroys  had  governed 
Naples.  (That  is  why  the  Germans  and  some  others, 
perhaps,  sometimes  give  to  Carlos  the  nvunber  VII.) 
In  Sicily  he  was  the  fifth  of  his  name,  because  the  Sicil- 
ians accepted  Charles  of  Anjou  as  the  first,  and  recog- 
nized the  three  emperors.  After  all  the  talk,  however, 
Carlos  was  not  pushed  to  the  extremity  of  a  choice, 
since  he  became  King  of  Spain,  third  of  his  name,  and 
that  style  remained  in  use  in  Naples  and  Sicily,  for 
during  the  long  minority  of  his  son  and  successor, 
Ferdinand,  nothing  was  done  by  the  regency  without 
the  sanction  of  the  chief  of  the  Bourbons  across  the 
Mediterranean. 

It  in  no  wise  obscures  the  interesting  figure  of  Carlos 
to  set  up  beside  him  that  of  his  Minister,  later  Presi- 
dent of  the  Council  of  the  Regency  of  Ferdinand. 
Carlos  had  brought  with  him  from  Parma,  Bernardo 
Tanucci,  then  a  young  Tuscan  thirty-six  years  of  age, 
Professor  of  common  law  at  the  University  of  Pisa  one 


152  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

of  the  most  enlightened  men  of  his  epoch.  A  French 
traveller  says : 

"The  King  gives  to  the  Queen  all  the  time  that  he 
passes  at  the  palace.  His  mornings  are  occupied  with 
fishing,  his  afternoons  with  shooting,  the  intervening 
hours  are  passed  in  council.  When  he  is  in  Naples, 
he  crosses  the  city  on  a  gallop  four  times  a  day." 

There  is  no  denying  that  he  governed  from  his 
carriage  and  his  bed,  but  Tanucci  worked  for  him,  and 
it  is  always  a  great  proof  of  the  sagacity  of  a  king  when, 
having  chosen  a  wise  minister,  he  allows  him  to  act 
freely  for  the  good  of  the  kingdom.  Tanucci  had  two 
great  principles  in  his  policy,  as  just  as  they  were  bold: 
to  save  Naples  from  the  Church  which  was  devouring 
it  and  to  abolish  feudalism.  Carlos,  with  all  his  piety, 
consented  to  the  undertaking  of  the  enormous  task  of 
reconstructing  the  realm  upon  these  principles.  Car- 
los was  a  king  who  attended  the  church  services  in  the 
robes  of  a  canon,  who  washed  the  feet  of  the  poor  on 
Good  Friday,  who  modelled  the  wax  figures  for  the 
Christmas  Presepe.  Yet  the  same  hand  that  shaped 
the  holy  wax  signed,  in  1741,  a  concordat  by  which  he 
insisted  that  the  clergy  pay  taxes,  suppressed  the  right 
of  refuge  and  jurisdiction.  He,  too,  added  his  "or- 
ganic articles."  By  his  own  authority  he  limited  the 
number  of  yearly  ordinations,  refused  to  concede  any 
power  to  papal  bulls  not  submitted  to  himself,  op- 


Royal  Palace,  Naples 


Alinari 


The  Chapel  of  the  Royal  Palace 


THE  PORCELAIN  CABINET  153 

posed  the  acqmsition  of  property  by  the  clergy  whose 
every  licence  he  suppressed  without  pity. 

Against  feudalism  he  established  a  cadastre,  an 
official  record  of  the  ownership  of  land,  and  sup- 
pressed a  number  of  the  obligations  of  the  contadini 
toward  their  landed  proprietors.  He  reformed  the 
tribunals,  introducing  into  them  some  degree  of  equity. 
He  ruled  the  expenses  with  severe  economy.  He 
opposed  the  introduction  of  the  Inquisition,  although 
he  banished  the  Jews.  Roads  were  made  in  Calabria, 
in  Apulia,  and  in  the  Abruzzi.  Carlos  was  an  excellent 
King  to  whom  Naples  owed  a  social  and  political  im- 
petus which  half  a  century  later  made  easy  for  Murat 
the  task  of  introducing  modem  principles  into  the 
administration  of  the  kingdom. 

In  1759  when  Carlos  was  forty-three  years  old,  his 
elder  brother,  the  King  of  Spain,  died  without  children, 
and  he,  the  King  of  Naples,  was  called  to  mount  the 
throne  of  his  fathers.  Nothing  to  regret  had  yet  arisen 
in  his  government,  but  regrets  over  leaving  it  must 
have  been  many  and  deep:  this  beautiful  kingdom, 
developing  peacefully  a  regenerate  and  sufficiently 
prosperous  people.  But  from  the  other  side  of  the 
Mediterranean  the  future  was  even  more  smiHng 
than  the  present  in  Naples.  Don  Carlos  must  have 
thought  of  the  good  hunting  at  La  Granja  and  Aran- 
juez  in  contemplating  the  change  in  affairs  that  made 


154  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

him  King  of  Spain,  successor  of  Charles  V.  and  Philip 
II.,  sovereign  of  the  old  kingdom,  rich  with  the  trea- 
sure of  America.  .  .  .  Carlos  left  Naples,  October 
6,  1759,  with  the  dignity  worthy  of  the  occasion,  his 
ship  dressed  with  colours,  and  at  the  hour  of  sunset. 
He  went  away  from  the  country  stripped  as  a  Saint 
John  might  have  gone,  leaving  behind  even  a  gold  ring 
found  at  Pompeii  where  he  had  begun  the  excavations. 
He  sailed  away  with  seven  of  his  children,  leaving  his 
third  son  at  Naples  as  King,  Ferdinand  IV.  (who 
fifty-six  years  later  assumed  the  title  of  Femand  I.  of 
the  Two  Sicilies),  the  oldest  son  being  an  idiot  and  the 
second  heir  to  the  crown  of  Spain.  That  second  son 
was  to  become  Carlos  IV.  who  would  return  to  die  at 
Naples  near  the  brother  he  loved  and  to  whom  he 
called  in  vain  that  he  might  die  in  his  arms.  Ferdi- 
nand, on  a  hunting  trip  at  Portici,  refused  to  open  the 
letters  which  brought  him  news  of  his  brother  until 
the  excursion  was  finished.  Then,  when  the  an- 
nouncement of  his  death  was  brought  to  Ferdinand,  he 
said,  "Since  he  is  dead,  let  us  go  on  with  the  hunt." 
It  was  like  the  exclamation  of  Louis  XIV.,  his  ances- 
tor, when  he  received  the  news  that  the  Duchess  de 
Bourgogne  had  had  a  miscarriage:  "At  any  rate  we 
can  start  for  Marly!"  The  day  of  the  funeral  of 
Carlos,  Ferdinand  was  still  hunting  at  Portici.  Later, 
Queen  Catherine,  Ferdinand's  saintly  wife,  must  also 


THE  PORCELAIN  CABINET  155 

die  vainly  calling  for  her  husband,  who  used  to  beat 
her,  and  who  gave  orders  that  he  should  not  be 
awakened.  Ferdinand  had  his  love  for  hunting  from 
his  father,  and  it  was  favoured,  probably,  by  Tanucci. 
Portici,  Capodimonte,  and  Caserte  were  built  for  this 
sport.  We  owe  to  Portici  the  preservation  of  Pom- 
peii and  Herculaneum,  to  Capodimonte  and  Caserte  our 
debt  is  the  awakening  of  the  Neapolitan  architectural 
art  in  the  eighteenth  century. 

By  this  time  the  great  painting  enterprise  had  no- 
thing more  to  exploit.  One  last  church,  indeed,  re- 
mained almost  intact,  doubly  annoying  to  the  painter 
crowd,  because  it  was  decorated  by  Giotto.  It  had 
been  easy  to  persuade  Carlos  to  renew  the  traditions 
of  the  royal  sepulchres  at  Santa  Chiara,  there  where 
slept  Robert  the  Wise,  where,  in  time,  must  sleep  the 
Bourbon  kings  who  should  die  in  Naples.  Nor  was  it 
difficult  to  demonstrate  that  this  sepulchre  should  be 
worthy  of  its  illustrious  occupants.  So  Santa  Chiara 
was  abandoned  to  the  ravagers.  Gilded  pastry  work 
and  trellises  replaced  the  bare  ogees,  and  Conca,  Muro, 
and  Bonito  were  set  to  work  to  replace  Giotto.  Then 
the  vandals  were  satisfied:  comparison  was  no  longer 
possible.  Of  the  three  ceilings,  the  least  displeasing  is 
Bonito's.  The  arms  are  always  flourishing  in  the  air, 
the  loins,  too.  On  the  edge  lies  an  ox  and  in  the  back- 
ground are  hunting  horns:  it  is,  in  fact,  the  halloo. 


156  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

One  last  mortal  act  of  injustice,  at  the  Annunziata, 
under  the  pretext  of  making  it  an  hospice,  and  all  is 
done.  Then  Muro  and  Bonito  throw  themselves  upon 
the  Royal  Palace,  last  sigh  of  the  Renaissance,  built 
in  1600  by  Fontana  who  had  been  called  to  Naples  by 
the  Viceroy  Miranda.  This  palace  replaced  the  an- 
cient one  built  by  Pedro  de  Toledo  whose  modest 
square  may  still  be  seen  on  the  map  of  Naples  as  it  was 
at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Muro  and  Bonito 
and,  after  them,  Conca  and  Solimena  decked  it  out 
with  their  atrocities,  disfiguring,  but  not  destroying 
its  majesty.  Notwithstanding  its  amplitude,  it  is, 
even  now,  one  of  the  noblest  of  the  surviving  riches  of 
the  ill-treated  city.  The  staircase  is  so  worthy  of  the 
most  beautiful  processions  that  we  may  well  ask  our- 
selves if  the  architects  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  in  Paris  did 
not  think  of  it  in  designing  theirs.  The  chapel  is  one 
of  the  most  imposing  intimate  interiors  to  be  seen 
anywhere  in  the  world. 

Vanvitelli,  although  occupied  with  modest  work, 
was  on  the  watch  to  renew  the  old  traditions,  to  bring 
back  to  life  art  in  architecture.  He  put  his  hand  to 
the  task  in  shutting  the  lower  portico  of  the  Royal 
Palace,  in  designing  the  Annunziata,  in  his  plans  for 
Caserte.  During  that  same  time  Medrano  built  the 
San  Carlo  theatre  and  began  Capodimonte,  where 
Felice  set  up  a  porcelain  factory,  and  tried  to  improve 


(v^  IjMB 


It^ 


Alinari 


Interior  of  the  Church  of  Santa  Chiara,  Naples 


Alinari 


The  Convent  of  San  Marcellino,  Naples 


THE  PORCELAIN  CABINET  157 

the  stuccoes,  the  balconies,  and  the  ceilings  of  the  pre- 
ceding century.  Vanvitelli,  preparing  himself  for  it  at 
Caserte,  accomplished  in  1750  what  may  be  considered 
his  masterpiece,  that  little  known  wonder  whose  name 
is  San  Marcellino. 

Up  there,  on  the  old  hill  of  Palasopolis,  on  the  peak 
above  Retifilo,  today  the  Corso  Umberto,  behind  the 
new  university  to  which  it  has  become  an  annex,  the 
convent  of  San  Marcell'no  marks  the  resurrection  of 
a  dying  art.  To  reach  it,  you  must  climb  the  hill 
by  the  winding  lanes  which  surround  the  university, 
pick  your  way  through  the  alleys  that  still  exist  around 
the  defunct  Mezzocannone,  the  centre  of  the  most  im- 
pressive memories  of  ancient  Naples.  Mezzocannone 
is  no  more.  To  an  old  Neapolitan  that  name  stands 
for  everything :  for  the  life  of  the  people  in  their  amaz- 
ing innocence  and  for  the  beautiful  legends  of  the  old 
statue  of  Alfonso  II.  of  Aragon,  placed,  it  is  said,  on  the 
side  where  the  Cumaeans  wove  the  branches  for  their 
huts.  But  Mezzocannone  is  destined  to  become  a 
beautiful  avenue;  it  has  been  saved  by  the  university, 
or,  at  least,  by  San  Marcellino  which,  from  its  rocky 
summit  dominates  a  new  Neapolis. 

On  the  square  opposite  the  church  of  Santi  Severino 
e  Sosio  stands  an  open  gate,  beyond  which  is  a 
cloister  that  reminds  us  of  Fansaga,  less  charming 
than  the  cloister  of  San  Martino,  but  with  more  bold- 


158  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

ness.  A  magnificent  garden  occupies  the  centre  with 
great  trees  and  an  almost  wild  vegetation.  The  high 
buildings  overhanging  it  are  those  of  the  old  convent, 
today  the  university.  The  genius  of  Vanvitelli 
shines  in  his  appropriation  of  the  belvedere.  The 
doorway  is  cut  brusquely  at  the  end  of  the  cloister  on 
the  left.  Passing  through  it,  we  step  upon  a  large 
terrace  overlooking  the  valley  and  the  harbour.  On 
the  right  the  terrace  ends  at  the  convent,  on  the  left 
at  a  chapel  with  a  shining  cupola,  another  Norman 
souvenir,  and  near  it  a  mass  of  shelving  roofs.  The 
walls,  no  higher  than  a  man,  are  cut  in  battlements, 
laughable  Baroque  crenellations  that  look  as  if  the 
building  were  playing  at  being  a  fortress.  Suddenly, 
on  the  right  of  the  platform,  we  come  upon  a  hole, 
some  ten  or  twelve  yards  in  diameter  and  at  least 
twenty  yards  deep.  Is  it  an  empty  well?  Look  into 
it  and  you  find  a  cavity  built  (by  Vanvitelli)  with  the 
imitations  of  three  stories  of  windows,  some  small  and 
rectangular,  others  large  and  rounded,  with  no  decora- 
tion, nothing  more  than  the  general  outlines;  and 
away  down  at  the  bottom  is  a  stocky  little  garden  with 
babbling  and  jetting  water.  No  one  can  fail  to  be 
impressed  by  the  striking  effect  of  this  verdant  cistern 
in  the  shadow  of  the  great  trees  of  the  cloister,  with 
the  freshness  and  the  murmur  of  water  rising  from  its 
surprising  depths.     Why  is  it  there?     For  no  other 


THE  PORCELAIN  CABINET  159 

reason  than  simply  to  be  there :  a  fine  bit  of  revenge  on 
the  architecture  of  Naples  which  for  too  long  a  time 
had  shown  no  personality,  had  been  a  mere  slave  to  the 
painters.  Vanvitelli  freed  it.  Since  the  painters  had 
proved  that  they  did  not  know  how  to  do  anything 
with  their  artistic  monopoly,  it  was  high  time  that  each 
art  take  its  own  rank,  and  Vanvitelli  built  this  pro- 
digiously useless  thing  to  exist  solely  to  give  pleasure 
— and  a  signal. 

The  signal  seems  to  have  been  understood.  Sculp- 
ture, in  its  turn,  awoke  also.  If  we  could  meet  all  of 
the  comparatively  few  travellers  who  have  seen  San 
Marcellino,  we  should  not  find  one  who  had  not  been 
provoked  to  laughter  or  stood  amazed  in  the  small 
church  of  the  Princes  Sangri,  commonly  called  the 
chapel  of  Sansevero,  which  stands  behind  San  Domen- 
ico  Maggiore.  One  may  well  laugh  at  it.  Indeed, 
nothing  could  be  more  comic  than  the  works  there 
considered  in  themselves.  The  lesson  taught  by  Ber- 
nini has  not  been  lost  here.  The  sculptors  have  taken 
up  the  notion  of  making  paintings.  That  is  not  a 
crime  in  itself ;  the  fault  was  to  apply  the  processes  of 
sculpture  to  painting,  to  try  to  make  sculpture  say 
what  painting  only  can  express.  If  ever  that  error  was 
excusable,  it  was  to  be  forgiven  at  Naples  where  paint- 
ing had  led  all  consciences  astray.  We  should  laugh, 
too,  if  we  did  not  cry,  at  this  Man  Freeing  himself  from 


i6o  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

the  Net  of  Error  or  Disillusion,  as  indeed  it  is,  this 
moral  revelation.  How  did  the  author  go  about  his 
work  of  presenting  such  an  abstract  idea  in  sculpture? 
A  nude  man  is  enveloped  in  a  net  from  which  he  tries 
to  disentangle  himself,  aided  by  a  genie  which  repre- 
sents his  will  or  his  awakening  conscience.  Queirolo, 
a  Genoese /«ct7.  Near  by,  Corradini  represents  Pudi- 
citia  in  the  most  immodest  guise.  This  modesty  en- 
velops her  nudity  in  a  veil  which  hides  nothing,  not 
even  her  forehead,  but  allows  her  most  secret  charms  to 
be  seen.  A  Dead  Christ  by  San  Martino  is  covered 
with  a  winding  sheet  which  clings  closely  to  every  part 
of  the  body.  How  poverty  stricken  these  anecdotes 
confess  the  art  they  express,  what  tour  de  force  for 
sculpture  whose  veritable  expression  lies  exclusively 
in  the  physiognomies  of  faces  as  of  bodies!  We  find 
skill  in  the  things,  but  that  is  a  quality  of  the  workman 
rather  than  of  the  artist.  However,  after  famine  even 
sugared  sweetmeats  are  welcomed  as  manna.  At  least 
here  are  works,  bad  as  they  are,  and  against  all  ideals, 
but  works.  The  artist  comes  from  a  long  distance 
back — and  he  looks  too  far  ahead  perhaps ;  but  let  him 
have  time  to  establish  his  equilibrium.  Naples,  alas, 
had  no  Canova  to  set  her  on  the  right  road.  Her  fate 
was  too  severe.  Nevertheless  she  profited  as  well  as 
she  could  by  the  reveille  sounded  at  Sansevero  and 
the  few  modem  tombs  scattered  through  the  churches 


■I^i 


■lBiCiM!»3JB:?S 


Ali'nari 


The  Dead  Christ,  Chapel  of  Sansevero,  Naples 


Alinari 


T> 1     n-l-^^     „f    Cnr^^Atmnni-r^ lyTortlQC 


THE  PORCELAIN  CABINET  i6i 

— among  others,  that,  at  Santa  Chiara,  of  Pauline 
Ranieri,  the  friend  of  Leopardi.  These  show  us  that 
Naples  would  have  been  able  to  respond  to  the  call  if 
the  infamy  of  the  Bourbon  regime  had  not  once  again 
thrown  her  into  abject  poverty. 

It  would  be  pleasant  to  linger  a  moment  over  the 
history  of  this  chapel  and  the  life  of  its  author,  over 
the  legend  of  the  Conca.  In  the  palace,  now  demol- 
ished, from  which  this  chapel  opened  there  lived,  in 
1690,  Carlo  Gesualdo,  Prince  de  Conca.  Being  a 
patron  of  letters,  Gesualdo  offered  his  hospitality  to 
Torquato  Tasso,  even  then  suffering  from  the  affliction 
which  led  him  to  prison  later,  and  Gesualdo  strove  to 
make  songs  with  which  he  soothed  the  unsettled  genius 
of  his  guest.  After  Tasso's  departure,  Gesualdo  con- 
tinued to  sing  and  did  not  hear  the  kisses  that  his  wife, 
Maria  d'Avalos  was  giving  to  Fabrice  Caraffa.  One 
day,  however,  he  saw  them  and  thereupon  the  lovers 
fell  to  the  ground,  strangled,  both  of  them,  and  Gesual- 
do fled.  Foralong  time  their  agonizing  cries  re-echoed 
through  the  deserted  palace  at  night,  and  a  white 
phantom  was  seen  at  the  windows  by  the  people  who 
had  courage  to  look  up  at  them  in  the  darkness  of 
night.  This  mystery  and  terror  suited  the  Prince 
Sangro  di  Sansevero  who  settled  his  furnaces  and  pipes 
among  them.  He  was  an  inventor,  a  madman,  in 
other  words,  who  passed  his  days  in  this  umbrageous 


1 62  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

solitude  in  combining  chemical  mixtures  out  of  which 
came  surprising  things.  In  1780  Lalande  saw  some 
pictures  painted  with  wax  from  which  the  grease  had 
been  eliminated  and  which  had  then  been  mixed  with 
water  and  colours  obtained  by  boiling  certain  herbs; 
he  saw  also  some  engravings  in  colour  drawn  from  a 
single  plate  at  one  impression  of  the  press;  books 
printed  in  characters  of  different  shades  at  one  blow  of 
the  bar;  stuffs  printed  without  a  wrong  side;  glass  and 
marble  coloured,  not  in  the  oven,  but  when  cold,  yet 
which  had  absorbed  the  colour  into  their  substance; 
some  lapis  lazuli  chemically  obtained;  precious  stones 
so  debased  as  to  be  unrecognizable;  porcelain  so  hard 
that  it  was  used  in  a  rolling  mill ;  hemp  as  fine  as  silk ; 
waterproof  clothes ;  wood  that  burned  without  leaving 
an  ash;  a  perpetual  lamp — Aladdin's  no  doubt. 

Let  us  use  its  light  to  see  the  awakening  of  the  Nea- 
politan genius.  By  its  beams  shall  we  see  Prince  San- 
gro  di  Sansevero  as  the  symbol  of  Naples,  trying,  like 
the  man  in  the  statue  of  Queirolo,  to  deliver  herself 
from  the  meshes  by  which  she  has  been  bound.  There 
have  been  many  critics  to  glorify  themselves  in  cursing 
the  art  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  art  that  has  been 
called  the  Jesuit  style  from  the  profession  of  P.  Pozzo 
who  inaugurated  it.  Considering  its  crimes,  nothing  is 
left  us  but  to  abominate  it.  In  Rome,  at  Venice,  in 
France,  too,  its  deeds  are  odious.     At  Naples  it  can 


THE  PORCELAIN  CABINET  163 

have  been  nothing  but  a  friend :  here  it  is  excused,  it  is 
understood,  loved,  not  for  itself,  but  because  it  pro- 
claims the  effort  of  resurrection  after  two  centuries  of 
death.  If  the  Disinganno  (the  man  with  the  net) 
struggles  with  disordered  gestures,  we  need  not  find 
fault  with  him,  but  with  the  strength  and  the  force 
that  their  age  has  given  to  the  meshes  of  his  net, 
with  the  obscure  consciousness  also,  perhaps,  of  the 
fatal  mistakes  they  represent.  Poor  Naples,  how  she 
struggles ! 

At  Capodimonte  we  shall  see  the  most  charming 
testimony  of  Naples's  return  to  life  when  she  was  con- 
sidered dead.  Before  going  up  there,  however,  we 
must  not  be  afraid  of  descending  into  the  quarter  of 
the  Fontanelle. 

Between  the  hill  of  Capodimonte  and  that  of  Palseo- 
polis  lie  the  dirty  waters  and  the  calamitous  alleys 
of  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  sordid  quarters  of  Naples. 
It  is  even  held  that  the  first  Cumaean  Naples  was  here. 
Whether  it  was  or  not,  the  Christians  were  early  in 
installing  themselves  here,  and  beneath  the  hospice  of 
San  Genndro  dei  Poveri,  where  Saint  Januarius  was 
formerly  buried,  we  see  the  catacombs  dating  back  to 
the  first  century.  Further  on,  at  the  very  bottom  of 
the  Fontanelle,  are  other  immense  catacombs,  caverns 
for  Lestrigons  and  Lotophages.  Millions  of  bones  are 
laid  out  here  in  an  orderly  arrangement  to  which,  on 


1 64  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Fridays,  come  the  women  of  the  people  to  ask  for 
winning  numbers  in  the  lottery. 

The  benefit  to  us  will  be  a  modest  one,  and  we  shall 
receive  it  at  Capodimonte.  Charles  III.  had  this 
palace  built,  without  foresight,  over  the  caverns  which 
began  to  give  way  so  that  the  building  was  abandoned, 
and  it  was  not  finished  until  the  time  of  Ferdinand. 
Let  us  not  be  too  severe  upon  the  overgrown  structure 
in  this  landscape  full  of  shadows,  which  calls  for  simpler 
walls.  Here  for  more  than  fifty  years  were  sheltered 
the  Famese  collections,  brought  from  Parma  by  Don 
Carlos,  but  which  were  first  brought  to  light  by  excava- 
tions for  antiques  in  Rome  or  collected  from  many 
places  by  the  artistic  taste  for  pictures  and  bibelots  of 
the  nephews  of  Paul  III.  In  this  half -built  palace  lay 
-in  heaps  and  for  years  the  wonders  which  now  make 
the  Museum  of  Naples  often  the  happy  rival  of  the 
Vatican  Gallery.  But  they  were  not  sold  and  that  is 
a  great  deal.  President  de  Brosses  tells  us  in  what 
state  they  were  found  before  1740:  "These  barbarous 
Spaniards,  whom  I  look  upon  as  modem  Goths,  not 
content  with  having  torn  the  pictures  away  from  the 
palace  at  Parma,  have  left  them  for  three  years  on  a 
dark  stairway"  which  everyone  feels  free  to  use  for 
private  convenience.  That  is  how  Titian's  portrait  of 
Paul  III.  and  Dance  were  treated.  It  was  not  until 
after  1790,  under  Ferdinand,  and  later  under  Murat, 


THE  PORCELAIN  CABINET  165 

that  the  present  museum  was  organized  and  the  injur- 
ies were  effaced,  perhaps,  too,  repaired. 

Everything  was  neglected  at  Capodimonte.  Charles 
III.  had  never  thought  of  it  as  anything  but  a  meeting- 
place  for  his  hunting  parties.  Medrano,  disgraced, 
paid  dear  for  his  indiscreet  zeal  which  was  not  re- 
deemed by  the  San  Carlo  theatre.  Sanfelice  suggested 
to  the  King  the  idea  of  installing  a  porcelain  factory 
within  these  useless  walls,  a  bit  of  flattery  offered  up 
to  the  Queen,  who  was  the  daughter  of  the  Elector 
of  Saxony.  Saxon  workmen  were  imported,  Chinese 
models  were  bought  in  Paris,  marble  was  brought  from 
Pisa.  In  Calabria  a  white  earth  was  discovered  which 
in  every  way  resembled  kaolin,  and  the  royal  factory 
of  Capodimonte  was  created.  To  this  day,  in  the 
halls  of  the  palace  we  see  delicate  and  charming 
products,  tender  and  milky  paste,  exquisitely  fine 
designs,  and  most  beautiful  forms.  We  also  see  the 
masterpiece,  that  wonderfully  charming  work,  the 
porcelain  cabinet,  which  was  formerly  at  Portici,  a 
boudoir  entirely  panelled  with  porcelain,  garlanded 
with  a  thousand  flowers,  mirrors  ornamented  with 
roses  like  those  of  Saxony,  doors  with  strong  casings 
like  hewn  wood,  a  complete  and  highly  finished  work, 
possessing  that  which  should  be  asked  of  an  art  which 
makes  no  pretensions  to  grandeur:  harmony  and  per- 
fection of  detail.     In  this  porcelain  cabinet  sleeps  the 


i66  .4  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Neapolitan  soul  disentangled  at  length  from  the 
meshes  in  which  the  Riberas  bound  it.  It  needs  only 
to  be  reawakened  once  again.  Will  the  economical 
development  of  modem  Naples  give  it  what  the 
Angevins,  the  Aragonians,  the  viceroys,  and  the  Bour- 
bons could  not  produce,  that  is  to  say,  a  personal  effort 
in  art,  such  a  Neapolitan  art  as  there  is  a  Tuscan  and 
an  Umbrian  art?  The  germs  are  there:  the  Greek, 
genius,  at  first  and  always  perceptible,  and  Nola, 
Fansaga,  Vanvitelli  prove  its  vitality.  Southern 
Italy  is  a  little  like  the  Cinderella  of  the  unified  king- 
dom. When  it  becomes  more  prosperous  it  will  be 
more  fruitful,  and  the  flowers  in  the  porcelain  will 
scatter  their  pollen  upon  the  branches  which  are  leaf- 
less, but  not  dead. 


•11       h'B       1  :i: 

"/v7     y    GROUND  "     "  FLOOR         I         '  ^' 

--1  i  ■  ■  ■  ■  j  ■  I  ^  ■  ■  ■  ■  4  r'- 
■4  III     III  I  I  I  I  1 1  I  I  ; 


^4 ;  ^l^  J-[,p^rroii^|-.fe 


r  T       3?  FLOOR  2P  FLOOR      I      I 


I  Mil       »      It      I     I     . 


;Jtt 

■llfillllllJl—lH 


Sixth  Day 

TREYS 

THe  Mvasevjxn 

N  the  lottery  of  the  antiques  Rome  has 
drawn  the  two  fives;  fours  went  to 
London,  thanks  to  fortunate  expedi- 
tions to  Greece;  and  to  the  Famese 
and  Vesuvius  Naples  owes  the  treys 
which  Paris,  Vienna,  Berlin,  and  Munich  may  envy  her. 
The  Famese  collection  dates  back  to  the  first  dis- 
coveries of  the  antique.     Giulia  Famese,  who  was  the 

167 


1 68  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

mistress  of  Alexander  VI.,  made  the  fortune  of  her 
brother  Alexander,  the  Cardinal  delta  gonella  (the 
petticoat  Cardinal;  that  is,  a  society  man).  She 
turned  into  the  hands  of  her  family  the  opportunity  to 
profit  by  the  numerous  excavations.  Paul  III.,  who 
was  cardinal  under  Alexander  VI.,  under  Julius  II., 
and  under  Clement  VII.,  filled  his  Roman  palace  with 
all  that  the  amiability  of  the  popes  allowed  him  to 
collect.  From  the  time  of  Julius  II.  the  Vatican  was 
filled,  yet  the  cardinal's  picks  did  not  work  in  vain. 
When  Cardinal  Alexander  Farnese  became  Paul  III. 
he  took  care  not  to  place  all  the  treasures  he  had 
amassed  in  the  Vatican :  he  was  thoughtful  enough  not 
to  rob  his  son  Paolo  Luigi  of  all  the  profits  of  his 
throne.  When  Paolo  Luigi  went  to  take  possession  of 
the  Duchy  of  Parma,  which  his  father  gave  him  the 
more  liberally  that  it  was  not  his  to  give,  the  favoured 
son  took  with  him  to  Parma  the  Roman  antiques 
which  Pope  Paul  III.  had  been  collecting  for  the  past 
forty  years.  At  Parma  they  were  found  by  Don 
Carlos,  the  heir  of  his  mother,  Elizabeth  Farnese,  and 
when  Carlos  became  King  of  Naples,  he  stripped 
Parma  to  decorate  his  royal  palace,  taking  away  not 
only  the  antiquities,  but  many  of  the  pictures,  includ- 
ing masterpieces  of  the  Renaissance.  Happily,  as  we 
remember,  he  held  the  highest  scruples  against  carry- 
ing them  off  with  him  again  when  he  left  Naples  to 


TREYS  169 

mount  his  father's  throne  as  Carlos  III.  of  Spain. 
Only  in  1790,  however,  did  his  son  King  Ferdinand 
make  of  them  the  nucleus  of  the  collections  of  the 
present  Museum,  which  was  further  enriched  by  the 
excavations  of  Pompeii,  Herculaneum,  Stabiae,  and  of 
the  sites  of  the  Greek  colonies  scattered  along  the 
borders  of  the  Tyrrhenian  Sea. 

How  wonderful  it  is  to  see  these  Greek  masterpieces 
come  back  by  roads  on  which  they  so  easily  might  have 
been  lost,  to  remain,  at  last,  on  what  was  originally 
Greek  soil!  Rome  had  stolen  them  from  Athens; 
Parma  had  stolen  them  from  Rome;  Elizabeth  might, 
have  taken  them  from  Parma  to  Spain;  but,  as  she  did 
not,  her  son  Carlos  found  them  in  Parma  and  could 
bring  them  with  him  to  Naples.  He,  too,  might  have 
taken  them  to  Spain ;  but  in  Naples  they  were  allowed 
to  remain.  Did  some  mysterious  power  seem  to 
have  held  them  to  the  shore  of  the  bay  colonized  by  the 
Greeks  ?  We  all  know  that  when  the  Roman  emperors 
left  Italy  for  Byzantium,  they  took  with  them  back 
to  the  Ionian  shores  most  of  the  marbles  and  bronzes 
which  the  proconsuls  and  artists  had  brought  from 
there  in  earlier  years.  Those  treasures  disappeared 
in  the  Musselman  disturbances  and  so  it  fell  out  that 
the  only  record  of  most  of  that  wonderful  Greek  art 
was  in  the  copies  made  of  the  works  while  they  were 
in  Rome,  together  with  a  few  originals  that  the  em- 


I70  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

perors  had  left  behind  and  which  falling  with  the 
buildings  they  ornamented,  protected,  indeed,  by  their 
ruins,  were  preserved  against  the  barbarism  of  the 
Middle  Ages  and  the  saintly  popes.  At  length  the 
artistic  popes  came  and  dug  them  up.  Then  every 
man  wanted  some  of  those  treasures  for  himself,  and, 
thanks  to  that  greed  for  the  beauty,  unheard  of  by 
so  many  generations,  when  the  mysterious  course 
of  human  events  placed  a  descendant  of  one  of 
the  most  ardent  ruin-diggers  upon  the  throne  of 
Naples,  then  the  masterpieces  and  masterly  copies 
which  had  so  long  lain  abandoned  in  a  little  villa 
in  Northern  Italy  made  their  last  journey  to  their 
native  latitude,  the  land  which  the  Greeks  embraced 
in  Greece.  How  joyously  they  must  have  felt  their 
shoulders  warm  to  the  paternal  sun!  Among  the 
actions  of  men  there  are  certain  coincidences  to  which 
our  ignorance  may  often  attribute  marvellous  causes. 
The  idea  of  Providence  was  bom  out  of  these  extra- 
ordinary combinations.  Surely  the  return  to  the  land 
of  a  Greek  colony  of  these  last  Greco-Roman  spoils 
should  be  reckoned  among  the  world's  miracles.  In 
this  landscape  which  seems  to  have  been  modelled 
by  the  hand  of  a  Myron,  Naples  offers  to  our  eyes 
the  works  of  Olympia  and  Corinth.  The  Museum 
of  Naples  is  as  indispensable  as  the  Vatican  to  one 
who  wishes  to  familiarize  himself  with  antique  art, 


TREYS  171 

and  it  surpasses  the  Vatican  in  the  harmony  of  its 
setting. 

All  that  we  have  learned  at  the  Vatican  is  confirmed 
here;  but  at  Naples  our  intellectual  acquisitions — of 
which  we  must  profit  without  too  closely  scrutinizing 
the  means  by  which  they  come  to  us — are  enriched 
by  new  points  of  view.  The  traveller  goes  to  the 
Museum  the  day  he  arrives:  an  excusable,  but  not  a 
justifiable  haste,  for  to  properly  enjoy  the  Museum  it 
is  better  to  wait  until  the  landscape  has  made  its 
impression  on  us.  When  the  lines  of  the  capes,  the 
mountains,  the  hills,  the  beaches,  and  the  volcano  have 
made  their  images  of  purity,  when  the  sublime  con- 
struction of  the  Bay  of  Naples  has  given  us  the  true 
measure  of  beauty,  of  order,  of  exact  proportions,  and 
of  values,  when  the  light,  warm  air  has  enriched  the 
blood  in  our  veins  with  some  of  the  same  ardour  that 
ran  under  the  skin  of  Pericles,  when,  in  a  word,  the 
Neapolitan  atmosphere  has  gradually,  day  after  day, 
awakened  the  Greek  soul  within  us,  only  then  can  we 
begin  to  fully  understand  the  meaning  of  these  works. 
Then  the  walls  of  the  building  where  they  stand  fall 
as  if  by  enchantment.  As  the  blood  of  reawakened 
youth  beats  in  our  arteries,  with  new  eyes  we  see  the 
statues  in  their  ancient  porticoes,  whose  shadows  pro- 
tect us  from  the  burning  sun.  We  envelop  them  in  the 
light  that  fills  our  own  pupils,  seeing  them  standing 


172  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

with  plenty  of  space  about  them  in  gardens  and 
temples,  ornamenting  houses  and  city  squares.  Again 
and  more  than  ever  we  feel  the  exalted  wonder  which 
laid  hold  of  us  as  we  stood  before  the  Apoxyomenos  in 
the  Braccio  Nuovo  of  the  Vatican  or  before  the  Muses 
of  Praxiteles.  We  feel  a  still  greater  sense  of  that  up- 
lifting melancholy,  that  strange  humility  with  which 
genius  always  overpowers  us,  which  prostrated  us  at 
the  Thermae  when  we  looked  at  the  Ephebos  and  at  the 
Birth  of  Venus.  Then  the  antiques  of  Naples  become 
familiar  to  us  and  we  move  about  them  as  about  loved 
objects  in  our  own  homes.  We  are  then  moulded 
by  Nature  to  reach  the  heights  which  enable  us  to 
find  them  simple  and  easy  to  understand.  This  sense 
of  being  at  ease  before  a  masterpiece,  which  increases 
to  the  wonderful  point  of  losing  all  our  self-conscious- 
ness, does  not  come  until  after  reflection,  but  once 
known  must  always  be  cherished  as  one  of  the  sweetest 
emotions  of  the  instant.  You*are  not  in  ecstasy,  but 
under  the  charm;  you  are  not  agitated,  but  happy; 
you  live  that  hour  as  if  you  had  never  lived  any  other. 
The  disciples  of  Plato  passed  before  Lais,  we  pass 
before  Psyche;  they  met  the  beautiful  Charmide,  we 
bow  to  Doryphoros.  It  has  become  quite  natural  to  us 
to  see  so  much  perfect  beauty.  We  feel  the  harmony 
between  the  things  of  earth  and  the  things  of  men. 
We  bathe  in  the  rays  of  the  sublime  diffused  by  these 


Psyche 
National  Museum,  Naples 


j-r--4UK%. 


TREYS  173 

works  with  the  same  ease  that  we  bask  in  the  rays  of 
the  sun.  We  follow  the  lines  of  the  perfect  bodies 
with  no  more  astonishment  than  we  follow  the  lines 
of  the  perfect  coast.  No,  it  is  not  mere  chance  which 
gives  this  daughter  of  Chalcis  as  the  last  resting  place 
of  Greek  thought ! 

There  is  still  another  pleasure,  which  is  at  the  same 
time  a  proof.  In  going  out  of  the  Neapolitan  churches 
after  so  much  wandering  about  in  nothingness,  after 
so  much  shine  and  uproar,  it  is  a  profound  pleasure  to 
come  here  and  listen  to  these  pure  and  grave  voices. 
After  seeing  so  many  agitated  Riberas,  such  an  insist- 
ence of  mountebanks,  one  comes  to  doubt  oneself,  to 
wonder  if  our  weakened  senses  are  not  deceiving  us, 
if  it  is  not  ourselves,  instead  of  these  wind-blowers, 
who  are  in  the  wrong.  Such  long  continued  observa- 
tion of  ill-doing  ends  by  allowing  it  to  penetrate  us. 
A  fear  of  "the  spirit  of  the  age"  begins  to  haunt  us. 
That  way  of  thinking  is  dangerous,  like  many  others. 
There  is  so  much  of  the  relative  and  the  momentary  in 
the  tastes  of  men.  But,  turn  to  the  Naples  Museum; 
there  is  a  standard  which  gives  the  true  measure  of 
things  every  day.  There  we  find  all  forms  and  all 
conditions,  all  the  passions  and  all  the  sublimities 
of  true  expression  which,  nothing  ever,  or  hardly 
ever,  surpasses.  Even  the  famous  Bull,  Dirce  and 
the  avengers  of  Antiope,  theatrical  as  they  are,  keep 


174  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

within  limits  of  which  Ribera's  tribe  had  not  the  least 
suspicion.  You  see  that  in  looking  at  the  punish- 
ment inflicted  by  Antiope's  sons,  Amphion  and  Zethus, 
upon  Dirce,  attached  to  the  bull  like  a  Mazeppa. 
Antiope,  pleading  for  forgiveness  in  the  background, 
would  find  even  the  need  of  getting  out  of  the  way  suf- 
ficient reason  to  have  her  legs  in  the  air  were  she  on  a 
ceiling  of  Santa  Chiara.  The  sculptor  of  the  antique, 
Hellenist  though  he  was,  and  of  a  decadent  epoch,  kept 
his  figures  within  high  and  noble  lines.  There  is  still 
serenity  in  this  work  of  variety.  Even  the  Hercules, 
to  whom  Taine  would  willingly  offer  "a  glass  of  the 
wine  of  the  abattoir,"  has  a  serenity  that  lifts  him 
above  the  common  world.  And  perhaps  we  see  him 
too  near.  At  Palermo,  in  the  gardens  of  La  Favorita, 
a  cast  of  this  Hercules  placed  upon  the  top  of  a  column, 
has  a  proud  air,  standing  out  in  a  striking  mass  with 
the  muscles  softened  down,  achieving  his  triumph  by 
the  simplicity  of  outline.  But  between  those  two, 
you  must  see  the  bust  of  Psyche.  No  one  can  ever  be 
deceived  in  his  judgment  of  the  beautiful  who  has 
looked  at  that  supple  torso,  that  tender  breast,  the 
modest  purity  of  that  face.  If  you  have  but  entered 
the  ways  of  reason  and  judgment  you  can  only  be 
strengthened  in  them  by  knowing  also  the  Harmodius 
here  and  the  Aristogiton,  the  Orestes  and  Electra,  and 
the  bas-relief  of  Orpheus,  still  more  serene  than  that  at 


TREYS  175 

the  Villa  Albani  in  Rome.  No  doubt  the  Inferno  from 
which  we  have  lately  escaped  has  much  to  do  with  our 
pleasure  here;  but  should  we  be  so  satisfied,  even  by 
contrast,  if  we  were  not  finding  the  truth?  The 
antique  remains  the  touchstone.  It  is  enough  to  go 
from  Naples  to  Paestum  to  be  sure  that  the  Baroque 
architecture  is  worthless.  It  is  enough  to  enter  the 
Naples  Musetun  to  be  convinced  that  the  school  of 
Ribera  can  have  no  value.  What  is  more  confounding 
is  to  know  that  Ribera  learned  his  art  in  Rome  and 
that  before  coming  here  he  was  at  Parma;  that  he  had 
looked  upon  it  all — and  had  seen  nothing.  He  had 
talent,  much  of  it.  He  even  studied  and  developed  it, 
but  he  did  not  use  his  eyes.  Think  of  Michelangelo, 
what  antiquity  revealed  to  him — nor  did  he  see  a 
quarter  of  what  Ribera  saw — and  what  it  made  him 
produce  in  the  Sistine.  Think  of  what  it  revealed  to 
Raphael  who  knew  so  cleverly,  as  always,  how  to  pass 
through  the  filter  of  his  genius  the  visions  by  which  he 
was  obsessed  and  how  to  realize  them  in  his  easy  way 
on  the  walls  of  the  Stanze.  Then  ask  yourself  how  was 
it  possible  for  the  Neapolitan  painters  to  remain  such 
strangers  as  they  were  to  beauty.  Rome  was  not  far 
away,  yet  they  never  cared  enough  for  her  treasures 
to  go  there;  the  Vatican  sisters  of  these  works  here 
offered  themselves  to  their  inspection  in  vain.  They 
would  not  have  found  the  austere  Juno,  whose  gravity, 


176  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

whose  severity  and  peace  might  have  turned  them 
from  their  course,  might  have  made  them  blush;  but 
the  Jupiter  Otricoli  would  have  been  sufficient  to  have 
stopped  them  forever.  Even  ignoring  the  antique, 
the  lines  of  the  Neapolitan  gulf  should  have  been 
enough  for  them.  Only  obstinately  they  saw  nothing. 
Their  punishment  is  in  our  contempt,  justified  now 
that  we  have  a  bench-mark.  What  a  good  bath  to 
take  every  day!  Let  us  look  from  the  hills  to  the 
marbles  and  make  ourselves  sure  of  our  own  judg- 
ments. Fearless,  then,  let  us  face  the  deceivers,  the 
dust  throwers,  sure  that  they  cannot  deceive  our  inno- 
cence or  our  scruples,  that  they  never  can  blind  us. 
One  of  the  greatest  benefits  that  can  be  derived  from 
antique  statuary  by  the  traveller  who  has  already 
tested  it  at  the  Vatican  and  finds  it  augmented  by 
a  fitting  landscape  is  in  the  familiarity,  the  intimacy 
he  feels  with  genius,  or  even  his  homely  feeling  for 
men  among  themselves.  The  great  sadness  of  every 
thoughtful  being,  especially  of  one  given  to  reflection 
upon  it,  is  in  the  solitude  he  must  always  feel  among 
his  brothers.  The  great  strength  of  the  individualist 
theory  comes  from  the  exigent  personality  that  the 
most  cultivated  education  does  not  succeed  in  destroy- 
ing. On  the  contrary,  it  seems  as  if  the  ransom  of 
mental  perfection  is  paid  by  the  bitterness  of  egotism, 
in  the  noblest  conception  of  that  word.     To  reach 


TREYS  177 

the  point  of  being  absorbed  in  another,  or  in  all 
others,  seems  to  be  a  mad  dream  to  realize  which  one 
must  have  the  heart  of  Buddha;  when  one  is  cut  off 
from  the  world,  however,  it  is  not  difficult  to  think  one- 
self the  centre  and  the  soul  of  it.  Only  when  one  fully 
lives  in  his  surroundings  does  he  cease  to  think  of  his 
own  part  in  them.  His  small  personal  life  goes  by 
and  he  leaves  to  the  coming  ages  the  trouble  of  co- 
ordinating so  many  individualities  to  make  out  of 
them  what  as  a  Frenchman  I  might  call  an  essence — 
or  a  synthesis — of  the  independent  molecules  in  which 
we  scatter  ourselves.  The  wonder  of  Greek  art  has 
been  to  achieve  this  reconstruction  through  beauty, 
to  link  together  again  the  chain  uniting  all  men.  The 
Greek  statues  are  the  magic  mirrors  in  which  we  see 
ourselves  in  the  pure  state,  without  dross.  We  envy 
them  their  qualities  because  no  one  of  them  is  so  won- 
derful that  we  cannot  fancy  ourselves  equally  perfect. 
They  are  our  ideals  because  they  are  us.  Those  who, 
like  Stendhal,  reproach  the  statues  of  antiquity  fof 
lack  of  expression  in  their  faces,  have  not  looked  at 
them  well.  Already,  at  Rome,^  we  have  seen,  first, 
that  we  should  make  a  mistake  to  look  for  expression 
solely  in  the  small  space  between  the  cranium  and  the 
neck.  Our  customs,  which  lay  a  thick  and  stiff  covering 
upon  the  body,  compel  us  to  look  on  the  end  of  one 
'  A  Month  in  Rome,  Sixth  Day. 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


another's  noses  for  the  expression  of  sentiments  that 
agitate  the  entire  body.  The  Greeks  gave  to  the  face 
no  more  than  its  own  part.  Possibly,  having  a  wider 
field  of  expression  both  to  employ  and  to  observe,  they 
were  less  keen  than  we  are  to  discern  the  tempest  of  a 
heart  in  the  line  of  a  cheek.  But  how  many  other 
things  could  they  perceive  in  a  contraction  of  the 
sciatic  muscle,  in  the  pulsation  of  the  sides,  in  all  the 
other  play  of  the  body!  Their  hymn  to  the  human 
body,  which  seems  to  us  exclusively  of  the  flesh,  was 
but  a  hymn  to  the  human  mind  which  they  read  as 
much  upon  the  breast  as  upon  the  lips.  Their  elo- 
quence was  seven  or  eight  times  greater  than  ours, 
since  it  interpreted  sentiment  expressed  upon  a  surface 
seven  or  eight  times  greater;  we  see  but  the  head — they 
saw  the  whole  body.  Would  it  not  be  better,  then,  to 
let  our  joy  in  this  bright,  gay  Neapolitan  life,  serve  to 
make  us  know  ourselves?  In  the  midst  of  this  appro- 
priate setting  of  nature  we  find  again  our  whole  being, 
lost  so  many  generations  ago,  whose  habits  we  have  so 
utterly  forgotten — we  find  a  voluptuous  feeling  in  the 
atmosphere  at  Naples  that  one  must  experience  at 
Athens,  on  the  Acropolis,  the  sensation  of  perfect 
harmony,  when  man  loses  himself  in  feeling  the  plant 
at  his  feet,  when  he  trembles  at  contact  with  earth,  as 
if  he  were  taking  root  again,  basking  in  the  happiness 
of  recognizing  himself  as  complete  at  last. 


i 

w^ 

f^J 

R 

J^4 

1 

^9 

Alinari  Alinari 

Drunken  SUenus  Sleeping  Satyr 

National  Museum,  Naples 


Drunken  Satyr 
National  Museum,  Naples 


TREYS  179 

The  pictures  of  our  brothers  will  aid  us  at  once. 
Stendhal  neglected  the  busts  of  the  Capitol.  Let  us 
not  reproach  him  for  indifference  to  what  they  had  to 
say ;  perhaps  we  too  should  have  failed  to  understand 
them  under  the  same  circumstances.  It  is  the  Nea- 
politan atmosphere  which  gives  all  those  figures  their 
full  value  in  retrospect.  If  our  instinct  now  draws  us 
nearer  to  the  statues,  how  much  more  easily  must  we 
be  attracted  to  the  Hermes  and  to  the  busts.  A  while 
ago  we  were  but  acquainted,  now  we  have  become 
brothers.  At  our  ease  among  these  untrammelled 
bodies,  ourselves  unburdened  of  the  conventional 
clothing,  which  seems  to  drop  from  our  shoulders,  the 
company  of  Homer  and  Euripides  gives  us  a  more 
intimate  hold  on  humanity.  No  gallery  in  the  Naples 
Museimi  is  more  rich  in  love  than  that  of  the  portraits. 
Having  already  grown  magnificent  in  our  limbs  and 
torso,  we  here  grow  nobility  of  feature,  here  we  become 
whole.  This  company  may  be  emperors  and  philo- 
sophers, they  may  be  Euripides  or  Zeno,  Marcus 
Aurelius  or  Socrates,  Titus  or  Antisthenes,  they  are 
also  our  kind.  The  majesty  of  Euripides  is  accom- 
panied by  an  indulgent  smile  of  raillery.  Homer's 
suffering  is  accompanied  by  pity.  Herodotus  tells  us 
beautiful  stories,  the  leading  characters  of  which  are 
before  us  in  marble,  but  so  alive !  The  very  ugliness 
of  Socrates  is  dear  to  us.    Hadrian  seems  to  be  a  re- 


i8o  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

production  of  some  fine  work  of  art  we  have  already 
known.  We  remember  having  rubbed  elbows  with 
Caligula.  Everywhere  we  meet  just  humanity  which 
changes  so  little,  is  always  human.  Soon  it  seems  as 
if  these  portraits  go  with  us,  that  we  are  strolling  along 
side  by  side  from  one  hall  to  another.  What  is  lacking 
in  one  we  borrow  for  it  from  another,  amusing  our- 
selves with  the  bodies  and  the  heads  waiting  about  for 
us  to  come  up  to  them,  much  as  children  play  paper 
dolls,  but  with  this  difference  that  we  piece  up  nothing 
but  the  sublime.  Socrates  inspires  us  with  unlimited 
confidence  in  himian  genius,  and  although  each  of  us, 
perhaps,  produces  but  a  mediocre  share  in  the 
world's  true  work,  useless  as  it  is  in  itself,  its  utility  is 
great  in  the  total  of  humanity,  for  our  infirmities, 
which  reduce  us  to  the  sensations  of  the  present  hour, 
hinder  us,  no  doubt,  from  seizing  the  object  of  many 
acts  which  appear  inferior  when  isolated,  but  which 
prove  considerable  in  their  place  in  the  great  whole. 
Thus  inspired,  we  no  longer  see  but  cold  images  before 
us.  As  the  marble  body  draws  us  nearer  in  apprecia- 
tion of  the  human  form — the  material,  so  do  the  fore- 
heads and  the  hollow  eyes  draw  us  near  to  the  minds 
of  the  departed  race.  Everything  seems  easy,  natural 
to  us  in  this  company.  The  strange  solitude  of  a  little 
time  ago,  when  it  seemed  that  one  must  be  alone  here 
not  to  be  lonely, — that  is  to  say,  at  the  price  of  a  con- 


TREYS  i8i 

tradiction, — all  that  is  forgotten  in  the  abundance  of 
companionship ;  the  solitude  here  finds  in  us  no  sensa- 
tion akin  to  the  idea  of  loneliness. 

The  bronzes  of  Herculaneum  and  of  Pompeii — es- 
pecially those  of  Pompeii — can  only  carry  us  back  to 
our  sad  misery,  in  our  fierce  individuality.  Among 
them  there  are  excellent  works,  certain  of  them  perfect, 
two  or  three  sublime,  like  the  Lyre-playing  Apollo  of 
Pompeii,  the  Mercury,  the  ^schines,  and  the  Drunken 
Satyr  of  Herculaneum.  But  they  are  all  by  far  too 
social  in  character.  The  Apollo  may  carry  us  away 
from  the  life  and  routine  of  our  own  house,  but  the 
Dancing  Faun  and  the  Narcissus  lead  us  back  at  once 
peremptorily — without  brutality,  of  course;  they  are  so 
charming.  We  have  flown  too  high  to  be  willing  to  come 
down  to  earth  so  quickly.  Once  more  we  feel  that 
we  must  keep  away  from  men  if  we  would  endure  them. 
The  antiquity  shops  of  Barbedienne  and  Thiebaut, 
excellent  as  are  their  wares,  cannot  give  us  the  sensa- 
tions we  have  at  the  Louvre,  and  the  emotion  that 
Barbedienne's  treasure  gives  us  because  it  is  nineteen 
hundred  years  old  cannot  be  taken  into  the  considera- 
tion. The  incontestable  and  flagrant  superiority  of 
strength  in  the  Herculaneiun  bronzes  and  the  pre- 
eminence of  charm  in  those  of  Pompeii  always  leave 
us  under  the  impression  of  the  inferior  and  secondary 
destination  of  the  Pompeian  art.     The  Apollo  Playing 


i82  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

the  Lyre  and  the  Ephebos's  Head  are  the  only  ones — and 
we  are  not  quite  sure  of  them — which  are  not  of  an 
industrial  character.  Neither  from  Pompeii  nor  from 
Herculaneum  have  we  anything,  approximately  speak- 
ing, except  the  Doryphoros,  the  Lyre-playing  Apollo, 
and  the  Dionysos,  which  was  not  destined  as  furnish- 
ings. The  more  or  less  delicate  taste  of  the  time  of 
these  bronzes,  which  may  have  desired  to  produce 
masterpieces,  was  constrained  to  adapt  itself  to  the 
needs  of  men,  to  exigencies  more  or  less  legitimate. 
If  it  is  right  for  us  to  give  ourselves  up  to  the  prestige  of 
the  antique,  surely  we  must  not  do  so  without  reflection. 
Our  dissatisfaction  is  justifiable,  therefore,  in  looking 
at  these  rehandlings  of  the  artistic  thought  in  the 
interest  of  industry,  perfect  as  they  are.  And  if  we 
wish  to  be  just  in  our  criticisms  and  our  appreciations, 
we  should  not  limit  ourselves  to  seeing  them  in  the 
Museum.  We  should  make  much  more  of  them  by 
studying  them  in  these  galleries  than  we  could  by 
seeing  them  in  the  houses  of  Pompeii  or  Herculaneum 
where  we  see  them  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand  distract- 
ing conditions ;  but  we  should  not  consider  them  separ- 
ate from  their  surroundings,  because  it  was  for  those 
surroundings  only  that  they  existed.  Are  the  statues 
of  the  Museum  merely  copies?  There  are  copies 
which  have  been  ordered  solely  for  the  need  of  possess- 
ing a  masterpiece,  not  the  desire  to  decorate  a  tab- 


Alinari 


Paul  III  with  His  Grandsons 
National  Museum,  Naples 


Danae  and  Cupid 
National  Museum  Naples 


Alina, 


TREYS  183 

linum.  When  Atticus,  Lucullus,  Cicero,  and  so  many 
others  brought  the  beautiful  Greek  bronzes  to  Rome, 
they  did  not  think  of  which  corners  of  their  porticoes 
or  what  fountains  the  object  would  "just  fit."  They 
only  thought  of  being  able  to  admire  tomorrow  the 
thing  they  found  so  beautiful  today.  The  Romans 
who  employed  artists  to  copy  those  works  acted  under 
the  same  enthusiasm.  First  of  all  to  have  possession 
of  the  work,  and  then  to  arrange  to  place  it.  The  de- 
formations of  the  Pompeian  bronzes  responded  to 
quite  another  purpose;  the  same  which  prevents  us 
from  separating  them  from  the  tablinum  and  the  peri- 
stylium  inspired  by  Lheir  artisans.  Just  as  Colas's  re- 
duction of  Michelangelo's  Pensieroso  although  a  good 
reproduction  cannot  be  judged  as  one  would  judge 
the  statue  in  the  Medici  Chapel,  so  can  we  not  be 
equitable  toward  these  works  exiled  in  a  Museimi. 
At  Herculaneum  and  at  Pompeii  only,  going  from  the 
cities  to  the  Museum  and  from  the  Museum  to  the 
cities,  can  we  establish  the  value  of  things,  of  paintings 
and  bibelots,  even  more  than  marbles.  Then  Har- 
mony, which  is  the  only  certain  aesthetic  law,  will  be 
found  presiding  over  our  judgments. 

At  Capodimonte  we  learned,  thanks  to  our  dear 
President  De  Brosses,  to  what  treatment  these  pictures 
were  subjected  after  Charles  III.  had  taken  the  trouble 
to  bring  them  with  him  from  Parma.     Twenty-five 


i84  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

years  after  De  Brosses's  time  they  were  in  the  same 
state,  aggravated  only  by  the  passing  of  time.  "This 
palace  (Capodimonte),"  wrote  the  Two  Swedish 
Gentlemen,  "was  intended  to  receive  the  furniture 
from  Parma,  and  in  waiting  until  it  could  be  fittingly 
provided  for,  the  boxes  of  books  and  the  pictures  were 
heaped  together  in  the  first  rooms  of  the  ground 
floor  which  happened  to  be  finished.  .  .  .  The  pic- 
tures were  but  lately  unboxed  when  we  saw  them. 
They  had  suffered  all  that  they  could  suffer  in  their 
long  wait  with  no  hope  of  a  happier  future.  In  fact, 
hung  any  way  whatever  on  the  walls  of  uninhabited 
apartments,  exposed  to  dampness  and  to  the  injuries 
of  the  air  to  which  the  palace — a  mere  ruin — is  open, 
nothing  can  save  them  from  the  destruction  toward 
which  so  many  causes  have  been  combining  for  twenty 
years." 

Our  visit  to  the  picture  galleries  of  the  Museum 
shows  that  things,  even  less  than  men,  should  never 
despair  of  "  a  happier  future."  But  is  there  any  hap- 
pier future  than  that  to  which  these  paintings  have 
come?  We  no  longer  see  traces  of  injuries  from  the 
air,  and  if  that  is  a  picture's  happiness,  these  pictures 
enjoy  the  height  of  felicity.  Fortunately  for  us,  all 
that  men  undertake  to  do  with  them,  against  them, 
but  half  succeeds.  Leonardo's  Supper,  at  Milan,  had 
already  been  repainted  when  Rubens  saw  it,  and  it 


TREYS  185 

has  been  done  over  a  good  dozen  of  times  since. 
Nevertheless  it  still  exists.  The  pictures  at  Naples 
have  been  repainted  but  once ;  not  much,  but  too  much. 
Yet  they  have  one  virtue;  they  teach  us  somewhat  of 
the  souls  of  their  owners,  of  those  sons  and  nephews, 
artists  themselves,  of  the  artist  Pope.  The  Farnese 
knew  how  to  choose.  We  find  here  works  of  the  first 
order,  although  not  always  the  most  beautiful,  of 
the  greatest  painters  of  the  Renaissance.  Tuscany, 
Umbria,  Venice,  Lombardy,  Romagna,  and  foreign 
countries  are  here  represented  by  the  works  of  their 
sons — works  that  are  worthy  of  Florence,  of  Venice,  of 
Cologne,  of  Amsterdam.  The  latter  were  brought  to 
the  collection,  no  doubt,  by  the  daughter  of  Charles 
V.  on  her  marriage  with  a  Farnese.  That  they  were 
admitted  proves  how  wide  was  the  culture  of  the  col- 
lectors. First  rank  among  the  rest  must  be  given  to 
the  Lorenzo  di  Credi,  for  a  surprising  richness  of  colour 
and  depth  of  feeling,  a  Sodoma  that  Siena  may  well 
envy,  a  Botticelli  of  notable  composition,  a  Canaletto 
no  less  convincing  than  the  others  and  charmingly 
delicate,  some  portraits  of  the  Parmesan,  of  course, 
the  portraits  which  have  made  too  many  of  us  forget 
the  painter  of  the  Mystic  Marriage  of  Saint  Catherine, 
at  Parma,'  rival  even  of  Correggio's  great  work,  an 
easel  piece  of  Moretto,  which  is  not  a  portrait,  the 
'  Little  Cities  of  Italy,  vol.  ii. 


i86  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

same  Moretto  whose  work  we  love  so  at  Brescia  for 
its  distinction  and  its  silver  reflections. '  The  Farnese 
had  some  of  all  that  was  worth  having;  they  made  up 
their  gallery  with  infinite  art.  In  it,  as  in  all  others, 
he  who  puts  all  others  out  of  sight,  attracts  all  hearts, 
is  the  great,  incomparable,  unequalled  Titian. 

If  Titian  had  never  painted  anything  but  the 
Danae  and  the  Portrait  of  Paul  III.  and  his  Nephews; 
if  we  had  not  the  Francis  I.  at  Paris,  and  the  Charles 
V.  at  Munich,  the  Assumption  at  Venice,  the  Venus  of 
Urbino  at  Florence,  and  so  many  others,  still  these  two 
pictures  at  Naples  would  be  enough  for  Titian's  glor3^ 
In  profane  works  he  is  as  brilliant  as  Veronese,  but 
adds  to  them  a  feeling  of  love  of  which  Paolo  Caliari 
did  not  know  enough.  Veronese  was  a  prodigious  vir- 
tuoso. Titian  is,  too,  and,  besides,  he  caresses  his 
subject  in  presenting  it,  caresses  it  and  touches  its 
depths  as  well.  His  work  has  the  serious  love  of  life 
of  which  Veronese  presented  only  the  brilliancy. 
Titian  possessed  all  the  gifts  shared  among  his  rivals, 
besides  his  own  particular  gift,  which  was  to  feel 
intensely  the  things  he  painted,  to  bum  for  these 
women's  bodies,  for  this  Danae  by  whom  one  feels 
thrilled  like  the  god  himself  who  seduced  her  in  the 
full  bloom  of  her  rich  beauty.  And  to  this  flame  he 
adds  the  terrifying  vision  of  the  soul.     It  is  custom- 

*  Little  Cities  of  Italy,  vol.  i. 


TREYS  187 

ary,  when  one  comes  back  from  Madrid,  to  deny- 
that  they  who  have  not  seen  Velasquez  can  know 
what  a  soul  can  express  with  the  brush.  Titian's  Paul 
III.  and  his  Nephews  permits  those  who  have  not  seen 
Madrid  to  be  reassured  in  their  imputed  ignorance. 
This  portrait  is  the  sublime  itself,  humanity  reached 
at  the  most  profound  depths,  at  bedrock.  Before  it 
the  pen  recognizes  its  weakness,  that  its  expression,  at 
best,  can  never  say  as  much  about  the  hearts  of  men  as 
Titian's  brush  was  able  to  say  in  this  picture.  What 
could  we  do  if  we  wished  to  portray  in  twenty  pages, 
or  in  a  hundred,  a  Paul  III.  ?  Titian  places  him  under 
our  eyes  breathing,  living,  terrifyingly  stripped  bare. 
It  is  under  Titian's  implacable  eye  we  see  this  sly, 
covetous  old  man,  the  intrepid  old  man  who  served  his 
ambition  with  the  vilest  of  paternal  baseness,  unless  his 
paternity  redeemed  all  his  vices!  Titian  had  him 
before  his  own  eyes  and  gave  him  to  us  to  devour. 
That  sharp  nose,  that  ferretlike  muzzle  scenting 
about  everywhere  to  take  what  no  one  divined  could 
be  touched,  that  fine  forehead  notwithstanding,  which 
might  have  carried  such  high  thoughts  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  passions  housed  there,  those  wicked  little 
eyes  so  clever  to  surprise  weaknesses,  and  those  hands, 
those  hooklike  hands  seeming  to  tremble  with  their 
booty.  He  is  there  as  if  ready  to  spring — but  no! 
See  those  two  young  men  near  him,  one  in  Capuchin's 


i88  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

cloak,  the  other  in  doublet,  the  latter  coming  forward 
with  a  bow.  The  old  man  is  no  longer  on  the  spring; 
he  sinks  back.  Octavio  Farnese  is  respectful,  but 
apparently  on  his  knees  though  he  seems  to  be,  the 
pale  youth  is  triumphant.  The  old  man  gives  way 
under  the  will  of  those  proud  young  fellows.  Made  in 
the  ballroom  as  this  Pope  was,  he  falls  back  helpless 
before  his  own  sons  who  brave  him  so  valiantly.  His 
hands  may  clutch  his  chair;  the  action  is  but  a  sign  of 
the  soul  that  would  like  to  spring  up,  but  submits  to 
its  vanquishers.  Paul  III.  bows  under  the  weight  of 
his  nepotism  and  his  paternity.  It  is  not  age  that 
bends  his  shoulders,  but  that  young  man  ready  to 
spring  upon  him.  This  is  one  of  the  most  tragic  paint- 
ings that  ever  has  been  or  can  be  made ;  it  gives  us  a 
shiver,  inspires  us  with  terror — with  pity  too,  for  never 
was  a  beaten  old  man  so  touching.  We  feel  that  he 
might  have  been  another  Julius  II.  if  he  had  had  no 
children.  With  them  he  was  another  Borgia,  less 
stupid  and  more  held  in  check  by  his  times;  but  he 
also  was  victim  of  the  noblest  of  human  sentiments  if 
his  office  had  not  compelled  him  to  suppress  them. 
His  crime  was  that  he  continued  to  be  a  father;  and 
it  is  in  that  tender  light,  suffused  with  forgiveness  for 
the  transgression,  that  Titian  paints  him.  This,  be- 
sides so  much  else  inexpressible  to  the  rest  of  us  is 
told  by  Titian  as  he  alone  knew  how  to  tell  things. 


TREYS  189 

They  who  wish  to  learn  the  eloquence  to  which  the 
brush  can  attain  should  come  here  to  see  how  a  man 
unveiled,  skinned  alive,  still  clings  to  that  which  has 
undone  him,  and  how  his  children  pay  him  the  honours 
of  their  palace.  What  a  strong  light  is  that  upon  the 
blindness  of  men  with  one  another ! 

After  seeing  this,  we  may,  if  we  feel  in  conscience 
bound,  walk  through  the  halls  where  the  Riberas  are 
spread  out.  Never  was  the  expression  of  the  Parisian 
ateliers,  the  words  grand  machine  more  applicable 
than  to  them.  They  are  indeed  the  work  of  great 
industrial  machines,  and  it  is  worth  while  to  see 
them  here  to  confirm  the  impression  of  them  which 
we  have  received  in  the  churches.  The  obsession  of 
Titian  follows  us  from  room  to  room  and  we  ask  our- 
selves: "Why  such  a  fuss  and  spread  when  one  little 
canvas  can  say  so  much,  take  us  into  the  very  depths 
of  hell ! "  When  our  tour  of  the  halls  is  ended,  memory 
retains,  besides  Titian's  masterpiece,  little  else  than  the 
splendid  Florentine  tapestries,  wonderful  as  they  are 
in  delicacy,  in  composition,  in  brilliancy;  in  their  way 
rivals  of  the  beautiful  canvases,  because,  like  them, 
they  have  been  the  work  of  expert  fingers  guided  by 
honest  minds.  That  is  the  surviving  secret ;  to  know 
your  trade,  to  exercise  it  scrupulously, — and  to  have, 
if  you  can,  a  grain  of  genius  thrown  in. 


DD3 


m 


YAHOS 

o~~io    ioo     '     200 


SeventH  Dax 

PAL^OPOLIS 


Pompeii 


HE  most  difficult  thing  to  do  at  Pompeii 

is   to  be  just.     If  one  arrives  there 

innocent  with  no  other  acquaintance 

than  the  guidebook,  even  if  that  be 

well  read,  one  risks  being  wonderfully 

simple.     If  one  stocks  himself  with  information  on  the 

real  value  and  the  relative  value  of  the  ruins,  one  risks 

appearing  ungrateful  or,  still  more,  of  deceiving  oneself. 

190 


PAL^OPOLIS  191 


There  is  no  doubt  that  the  discovery  of  Pompeii 
a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  enriched  the  science  of 
antiquity,  and  it  is  no  less  certain,  on  the  other  hand, 
that  its  treasures  are  not  to  be  reckoned  among  the 
rarest  examples  of  the  arts  of  the  past.  The  excava- 
tions of  Pompeii,  begun  after  those  of  Herculanetma, 
have  been  pursued  with  greaterarchaeological  zeal  more 
because  of  the  facility  they  offered  to  research  than  for 
the  superiority  of  the  finds.  A  city  of  twenty  thou- 
sand souls  still  weighs  upon  Herculaneimi,  whereas 
nothing  but  the  crops  of  the  fields  covered  Pompeii. 
With  all  the  facilities  of  perforation  yielded  by  me- 
chanical progress,  the  problem  of  Herculaneimi  is  not 
yet  solved.  That  of  Pompeii  was  solved  on  the  face  of 
it;  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  sweep  away  the  dust 
and  ashes,  comparatively  easy  excavation,  causing  no 
harm  to  any  one  or  anything.  The  ruins,  secondary  in 
themselves,  have  taken  first  place  among  ruined  cities 
from  the  mere  fact  that  they  were  accessible.  To  this 
fact  we  owe  our  knowledge  of  how  the  ancient  Romans 
lived;  we  may  go  about  their  houses  almost  as  their 
masters  did;  we  may  accompany  them  in  the  forum, 
and  stand  beside  them  in  their  temples.  If,  then,  we 
enter  Pompeii  as  the  Neapolitans  entered  it  in  the 
time  of  Ferdinand,  of  Murat,  and  of  Fiorelli  (that  is 
to  say,  without  knowing  what  has  since  been  learned, 
thanks  to  them)  we  have  a  right  to  be  astonished. 


192  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Let  us  never  forget  this  gratitude  due  to  things  and 
to  men. 

But  can  we  suppress  posterior  acquisitions?  Can 
we  ignore  our  knowledge  that  Pompeii  in  the  year  79, 
when  it  was  covered  by  the  eruption,  was  a  new  city, 
rebuilt  after  it  had  been  destroyed  by  an  earthquake 
in  63?  The  first  emotion  passed,  is  it  possible  to  look 
at  its  works  of  art  except  without  feeling;  can  we, 
without  exaggeration,  rank  them  among  the  great 
works  we  know? 

Perhaps  we  have  been  somewhat  imposed  upon  by 
that  earthquake  of  63.  Pompeii  must  have  bloomed 
again  fifteen  years  later.  The  city  was  shaken  down, 
lying  scattered  on  the  ground,  but  not  enough  so  to 
give  a  free  field  to  the  reconstructors;  and  even  if  the 
place  were  to  be  all  rebuilt,  the  very  haste  of  the  enter- 
prise was  an  obstacle  to  fundamental  changes.  These 
were  new  walls,  perhaps,  walls  of  the  year  79,  but  ex- 
actly like  those — and  very  often  not  new,  but  really 
those — of  63.  To  us  of  the  twentieth  century,  and 
for  the  object  of  our  search,  there  is  no  difference.  It 
was  the  inhabitants  of  63  who  rebuilt  from  64  to  79 : 
their  only  thought  was  to  put  roofs  over  their  heads 
again,  to  continue  their  existence,  to  live  in  65  as  they 
had  been  living  in  61,  to  make  use  of  what  there  was 
usable  in  the  ruins  and  at  the  least  expense.  The 
dressing  of  the  stone  may  be  less  ancient,  in  signific- 


Alinari 


Street  of  Fortune,  Pompeii 


Alina.'i 


House  of  the  Favm,  Pompeii 


Pompeii  and  Vesuvius 


The  Great  Theatre,  Pompeii 


PALM)POLIS  193 

ance  it  is  the  same,  and  that  is  what  we  are  looking  for. 
Therefore  we  can  never  assume  an  air  of  distrust  toward 
architectural  Pompeii.  Much  of  the  ancient  city  of  62 
has  been  preserved  and  the  new  parts,  those  of  the  year 
65,  were  similar  to  those  before  the  terremoto. 

But  the  earthquake  not  only  shook  down  the  walls; 
it  knocked  over  and  broke  to  bits  the  paintings  and 
sculptures;  and  these  were  replaced  in  such  a  way  that 
the  terremoto,  which  means  comparatively  nothing  to  us 
from  an  architectural  point  of  view,  was  extremely  im- 
portant from  the  pictorial  and  sculptural  point  of  view. 
We  may  find  the  ruins  of  Pompeii  instructive  upon  the 
frame,  but  not  upon  the  picture.  What  we  are  con- 
strained to  ask  at  the  outset,  before  entering  upon  our 
examination,  is:  If  the  rarity  of  the  works  revealed  did 
not  have  much  to  do  with  the  admiration  of  the  first 
searchers,  and  why  do  we  not  continue  to  express  the 
same  degree  of  admiration  notwithstanding  the  artist- 
ic treasures  a  thousand  times  more  precious  which 
have  been  found  in  so  many  places  since  the  seven- 
teenth century? 

The  Doryphoros,  in  marble,  and  the  Apollo  Playing 
the  Lyre,  in  bronze,  the  latter  probably  an  original 
Greek,  are  the  only  great  sculptures  from  Pompeii. 
All  the  rest,  marble  and  bronze,  is  the  product  of 
industry,  artisan's  copies,  reductions,  arrangements. 
We  may  find  the  object  charming  and  wish  to  own  it; 


194  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

we  cannot  venerate  it ;  and  does  it  haunt  our  memor- 
ies? That  is  the  fact;  but,  here  again,  let  us  be  careful 
not  to  be  unjust.  When  the  panic  was  passed,  the 
eruption  finished,  the  inhabitants  of  Pompeii,  nine- 
tenths  of  whom  had  escaped,  went  back  to  dig  among 
the  ruins  and  take  away  all  that  they  could,  naturally 
the  greatest  treasures.  The  mere  accident  of  being 
especially  deeply  buried,  or  some  inexplicable  indiffer- 
ence, perhaps,  preserved  a  few  precious  works;  but, 
with  those  exceptions,  all  the  masterpieces  of  Pompeii 
were  saved  immediately  after  the  disaster.  Among 
the  secondary  objects  that  were  allowed  to  remain  we 
now  have  the  Narcissus,  the  Dancing  Faun,  the  Silenus 
at  the  Naples  Museimi.  Is  it  not  a  wonder  that  the 
Narcissus  was  left  ?  If  the  Pompeians  furnished  their 
houses  like  that,  their  city  must  have  been  among  the 
first  in  the  Empire  in  matters  of  taste  and  culture.  Toor- 
nament  one's  garden  with  the  Child  with  theGoose,which. 
we  see  in  the  House  of  the  Vettii,  bespeaks  an  advanced 
degree  of  civilization.  One  must  have  a  refined  soul  to 
trace  out  the  Atlases  and  round  off  the  stuccoes  of  the 
thermae  of  the  Forum .  Everywhere  Pompeii  shines  with 
the  excellence  of  objects  of  secondary  rank  in  their  own 
day,  superior  to  much  of  our  best  modem  work. 

Do  you  remember — I  have  quoted  it  before,  it  so 
sticks  in  the  memory — that  saying  of  the  great  poet: 


PAL^OPOLIS  195 


"Many  disasters  have  afiflicted  humanity,  but  none 
has  given  so  much  pleasure  to  posterity  as  the  destruc- 
tion of  Pompeii."  That  was  a  fierce  trait  in  Goethe; 
his  egotism  was  of  a  kind  to  belittle  the  truth.  We, 
posterity,  should  we  blush  at  our  pleasure,  when  con- 
temporaries rushed  upon  the  pasture?  Tacitus  lost 
no  time  in  weeping  over  his  friend  Pliny.  Making  no 
secret  of  his  wish  to  write  his  memoirs,  he  begged 
Pliny  the  Younger  to  send  him  all  the  details  possi- 
ble of  his  imcle's  death.  Pliny  the  Younger  dried  his 
tears  and  wrote.  So  we  may  dry  ours  for  the  sake  of 
reading  a  masterpiece,  model  of  all  obituaries,  less 
hastily  composed  than  ours,  to  be  sure,  since  it  was 
done  long  after  the  event — belonging,  let  us  say,  under 
the  head  of  "Things  Seen." 

I  thought  of  that  letter  as  I  read  the  descriptions  of 
the  catastrophe  at  Messina.  You  remember  the  at- 
titude of  Pliny  the  Younger  who  knew  that  his  uncle 
was  starting  for  Stabiae,  the  very  heart  of  the  appalling 
suffering?  Not  only  did  he  refuse  to  accompany  him, 
but  slept  on  peacefully  and  when  he  awoke,  resumed 
his  reading  of  Livy.  Beside  this  cold-heartedness 
stands  the  admirable  heroism  of  the  young  Pliny's 
mother,  "Flee,  my  son,"  she  cried,  "I  am  old;  I  shall 
await  death  here  in  my  own  house,  happy  that  I  have 
saved  you !"  But  what  can  we  say  of  the  Elder  Pliny, 
magnificent  and  pitiable  at  the  same  time?    He  was 


196  A  FORTNIGHT  IX  NAPLES 

commander,  we  know,  of  the  Roman  fleet,  and  his 
duty  called  him  to  Retina,  the  port  of  Herctilanemii 
whose  name  has  been  resimied  by  the  Resina  of  today. 
Yet  it  was  as  much  the  curiosity  and  interest  of  a 
savant  as  the  duty  of  an  officer  that  impelled  him  to 
sail  from  Misenum  to  Stabiee  across  the  changed  and 
troubled  bay.  Soon  after  he  landed  he  stopped  at  the 
house  d  a  friend  and  slept,  after  having  dined  well. 
His  death  from  cardiac  emphysema  saved  his  memory 
at  least.  At  Messina  we  saw  acts  of  sublime  devotion 
and  odious  weakness.  The  scenes  of  horror  there  were 
but  repetitions  of  those  of  Pompeii  as  we  know  of  them 
from  the  bodies  and  the  poations  in  which  they  were 
found.  When  the  rubbish  is  cleared  from  Messina  we 
shall  have  another  Pompeii.  To  be  sure,  the  two  catas- 
trophes are  not  similar,  and  Messina  will  not  entertain 
so  remote  a  posterity  as  that  of  Pompeii;  but  the 
feelings  they  arouse  in  us  are  the  same.  Time  makes 
no  difference  in  the  souls  of  men.  Buried  or  fallen 
down,  both  are  destroyed  cities.  The  same  passions 
were  aroused  by  the  two  catastrophes,  the  same  pain- 
ful r^ret  and  the  same  curiosity  seized  the  worid. 
One  lights  the  other.  A  visit  to  Pompeii  enables  us 
to  tmderstand  many  things  about  Messina,  as  the 
memory  of  the  recent  destruction  of  that  city  is  an 
enlightenment,  though  not  that  oi  actual  erudition,  for 
a  visit  to  Pompeii. 


Peristyle  in  the  House  of  the  Vettii,  Pompeii 


The  Temple  of  Isis,  Pompeii 


The  ChUd  with  the  Goose,  House  of  the  Vettii,  Pompeii 


Alinari 


PALM)POLIS  197 


As  a  guide  of  any  sort  I  make  no  pretensions.  If 
you  want  information,  there  are  the  works  of  Gaston 
Boissier,  of  M.  Henry  Thedenat,  and  of  M.  Pierre 
Gusman.  I  should  be  awkward  and  unsatisfactory  if 
I  set  up  for  a  savant,  although  sincerity  is  at  the 
bottom  of  my  heart.  .  .  .  But  let  us  merely  think — 
dream  of  Pliny,  of  history,  of  Messina,  of  the  objects 
that  have  been  found  here,  of  the  streets,  of  the  works 
of  art  ...  let  us  dream  of  ourselves.  Visitors 
think  much  more  of  being  moved  than  of  being  in- 
structed, and,  still  more,  they  like  to  be  astonished. 
This  city  is  full  of  things  to  wonder  at.  The  first  sur- 
prise that  strikes  us  is  its  toylike  aspect.  As  soon  as 
we  enter  it,  we  follow  a  narrow  street  in  which  a  car- 
riage could  barely  pass.  A  street  of  the  outskirts,  no 
doubt,  we  think;  but  as  we  go  on,  we  find  the  other 
streets  scarcely  wider,  even  the  Via  Marina  which 
begins  at  the  city  gate  and  upon  which  the  hotels  are 
situated.  The  Strada  di  Nola,  by  which  we  enter  the 
heart  of  the  uncovered  city,  although  somewhat  less 
narrow,  hardly  gives  a  different  impression.  Whether 
the  streets  are  wide  or  narrow,  the  houses  are  all  of  the 
same  level.  The  surface  occupied  by  Pompeii  is  that 
of  a  city,  the  height  is  that  of  a  chicken  yard.  One 
is  constantly  looking  over  the  walls.  Everything  is 
low  and  flat  as  if  in  shelter  from  the  wind.  Never  did 
the  symbol  of  the  scythe  in  the  hands  of  Death  seem 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


truer  than  here.  Vesuvius,  always  present,  never  lost 
from  sight  for  an  instant,  seems  armed  with  the  curved 
steel  which  compelled  the  little  earth-covered  walls 
to  lie  low.  Really  we  seem  to  be  walking  about 
in  a  toy  city,  that  of  some  crown  prince,  perhaps,  but 
nevertheless  a  toy.  Is  it  not  true?  Is  it  not  one  of 
those  constructions  fashionable  just  now?  I  am  re- 
minded of  M.  Bigot's  remarkable  reconstruction  of 
ancient  Rome  on  a  table  ten  metres  square  that  I 
have  seen  at  Rome.  We  feel  like  saying  that  the  arch- 
aeological scholars  have  chosen  the  real  site  for  their 
reconstructions  and  would  make  us  believe  that  they 
are  the  real  city,  so  much  the  more  that  the  houses 
are  little,  too,  or  what  we  see  of  them  in  passing,  if 
we  do  not  stop  to  go  into  them  or  look  through  the 
gratings  that  shut  them  away  from  us.  The  shops,  in 
ancient  times,  cannot  have  had  much  business.  When 
the  proprietor,  his  merchandise,  and  a  customer  were 
in  them,  they  were  full. 

If  we  want  an  idea  of  Pompeii  living  as  well  as  one 
of  the  dead  and  dug-out  city,  let  us  walk  one  morning 
about  that  quarter  of  Naples  lying  between  the  Via 
Toledo  and  the  Port,  through  the  Strada  de'  Tribunali 
and  San  Biagio  among  others.  A  visit  to  Pompeii  is 
necessary  to  complete  our  understanding  of  Naples 
and  vice  versa;  necessary  to  reconstruct  the  shops 
which  remain  intact  in  their  state  of  ruin.     And  that 


PALjEOPOLIS,  199 


state  of  ruin  is  Pompeii  which  they  resuscitate  entirely. 
When  you  have  become  familiar  with  the  old  quarters 
of  Naples,  with  the  streets  of  the  ancient  Palasopolis 
and  Neapolis;  when  you  have  fallen  into  the  habit  of 
going  about  between  the  high  houses  as  you  would  go 
along  a  path  between  rows  of  oaks  in  a  forest ;  when  you 
have  gazed  scores  of  times  into  the  depths  of  the  filthy 
bassi;  when  you  can  name  all  the  shopkeepers  seated 
before  their  shops — which  are  but  their  storerooms, 
since  the  transaction  of  their  business,  and  even  the 
manufacture  of  their  wares,  are  carried  on  upon  the 
sidewalks;  in  fact,  when  you  are  somewhat  initiated 
into  the  life  of  the  Neapolitan  people,  it  is  impossible 
not  to  call  up  at  once  such  life  within  the  low  walls  of 
Pompeii.  On  the  other  hand,  after  a  half  hour's  walk 
in  the  streets  of  Pompeii,  Naples  seems  to  arise  before 
your  eyes  and  the  buried  city  to  live  in  the  Naples  of 
today.  Were  the  houses  of  Pompeii  as  high  as  those 
of  Naples?  No  more  than  those  of  Fontainebleau  or 
Compiegne  could  they  rival  the  tall  houses  of  Paris. 
But  the  shopkeepers  had  the  same  customs.  In  the 
narrow  streets,  about  the  same  width  in  both  cities, 
opens  the  same  little  shop  with  its  front  wall  at  a  com- 
fortable height  to  lean  on  and  where  the  merchant  can 
put  his  goods  imder  the  nose  of  the  passer-by.  When 
there  are  tools  to  his  trade,  it  is  upon  this  low  wall  they 
are  placed  exactly  as  you  see  the  wares  of  the  Neapoli- 


20O  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

tan  second-hand  woman,  her  caldron  in  the  gutter, 
and  leathers  of  the  shoemaker  lying  about  him  on  the 
pavement.  The  out-of-door  life  has  created,  in  the 
two  cities,  the  same  massing  of  things  and  people. 
They  all  hasten  to  get  out  of  their  houses  to  be  in  the 
air,  the  light,  the  warmth  of  the  sunshine.  We  see 
those  Pompeians  so  well,  occupying  the  whole  of  the 
way,  the  women  grinding  their  mixtures,  the  men 
standing  about,  leaning  against  the  wall,  talking,  the 
children  running  between  the  legs  of  the  passers-by. 
The  street,  filled  night  and  morning  with  a  loitering, 
light-hearted  people,  is  closed  to  carriages,  if  not  theo- 
retically, at  least  practically,  the  street  belonging 
to  the  inhabitants,  not  to  those  who  would  pass 
through  it.  Here,  too,  are  the  overflowing  shops,  full 
of  vegetables,  shining  in  the  shadows,  of  stuffs  as 
black  as  the  pigeonholes  in  which  they  lie,  of  sandals 
with  hanging  and  tangled  thongs,  the  barber,  repul- 
sively fat  and  smelling  of  dry  soap.  The  image-seller's 
stock  of  idols  of  the  first  century  has  been  replaced  by 
saints  in  highly  coloured  pictures  and  statuettes  in 
wax  and  plaster.  The  fuller — today  the  dyer — had  his 
tunics  and  togas  hanging  out  on  the  line ;  and  who  knows 
if  the  laundress  with  her  ironing  women  at  work  upon 
the  sidewalk,  did  not  then,  as  now,  bar  it  as  with  a  toll- 
gate?  Was  it  not  all  lived  in  Pompeii,  this  Neapolitan 
life,  so  interesting  despite  its  repugnance,  so  attractive 


PAL.EOPOLIS  201 

while  it  turns  your  stomach,  this  life  of  nude  nature 
and  of  confidence  in  the  generosity  of  God  ? 

Man  changes  little  with  all  the  apparent  growth  of 
civilization.  He  lays  that  which  he  acquires  upon 
that  which  he  already  possesses.  His  habits,  his  cus- 
toms remain,  almost  always  due  to  the  climate,  which 
changes  but  little.  Who  of  us,  in  going  about  our  own 
French  country,  has  not  stopped  before  a  remote  farm, 
an  isolated  cabin,  before  a  vision  in  the  flesh  of  a  peas- 
ant of  five  or  six  hundred  years  ago  to  whom  modem 
invention  has  given  some  facilities  without  essentially 
drawing  him  out  of  his  ancient  habits  ?  It  is  this  per- 
petuity of  human  nature  that  strikes  when  we  see  the 
ruins  of  Pompeii  after  loitering  about  the  streets  of 
Naples.  They  might  have  been  one.  Knowing  that 
Naples  was  the  last  place  on  the  Tyrrhenian  Sea  to 
remain  Greek,  and  that  Pompeii  also  was  Greek,  with 
the  combined  modesty  and  assurance  of  dreams,  we 
make  up  our  picture  from  what  we  know  of  Greek  life 
or,  at  least,  of  Greek  life  in  Italy.  The  day  when  Seli- 
nunte  again  sees  the  light  we  shall  be  quite  certain. 
We  shall  be  much  surprised  if  a  second  Pompeii  does 
not  come  forth,  a  prodigious  metope,  between  the 
coltmins  of  Selinunte. 

Little  city  as  it  was,  Pompeii  did  not  differ  much  in 
her  customs  from  the  great  cities.     Nor  did  she  differ 


202  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

much  from  them  in  the  majesty  of  her  buildings.  On 
the  score  of  general  appearance,  diminished  on  one 
hand  by  the  levellings  and  augmented  on  the  other  by 
the  absence  of  people,  it  yet  remains  undeniable  that 
in  its  streets,  its  temples,  and  its  houses  the  spaces  of 
Pompeii  are  disproportioned.  Let  us  go  nearer  and 
try  to  understand  this  blemish.  Perhaps  we  shall  find 
some  general  idea,  some  leading  thread  which  will  give 
us  the  clue  to  the  Pompeian  soul.  The  Forum  is  one 
of  the  most  impressive  to  be  seen.  It  is  occupied  by 
not  less  than  nine  monuments,  among  which,  in  the 
centre,  stands  the  Temple  of  Jupiter  at  the  top  of  its 
steps,  a  building  of  imposing  majesty,  its  broken  col- 
umns, so  wonderfully  slight  and  smooth,  standing  out 
against  the  magnificent  background  of  Vesuvius. 
Fine,  oblong,  clear  cut,  and  not  overcharged,  it  is  the 
Forum  of  an  advanced  civilization  at  which  Rome 
must  have  looked  with  surprise.  It  was  laid  out  with 
a  sense  of  harmony  and,  especially,  of  space,  very  rare 
in  its  epoch.  Who  has  not  been  surprised  at  the  con- 
fusion of  buildings  that  must  have  reigned  in  the 
Forum  of  Rome  ?  The  Forum  of  Pompeii,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  arranged  with  care  worthy  of  our  own  day, 
when  the  equal  distribution  of  masses  is  about  the 
only  principle  of  good  taste  left  in  our  architects. 
Remembering  that  Pompeii  had  been  rebuilt  recently, 
that  it  was  in  part  new  at  the  time  of  the  catastrophe 


Alinari 


The  Forum,  Pompeii 


Alinari 


The  Forum,  Pompeii 


PAL^OPOLIS  203 


of  the  year  79,  must  we  not  recognize  that  a  great 
change  was  taking  place  in  the  artistic  ideas  of  the 
Romans  at  the  beginning  of  the  Empire?  To  judge  of 
them,  do  we  not  make  a  mistake  to  confine  ourselves 
too  closely  to  Rome  itself,  encumbered  as  it  was  by 
traditions?  In  the  history  of  antique  architecture 
there  is  an  exception  at  Pompeii  that  to  my  surprise  I 
have  not  found  writers  make  note  of — except  in  the 
manner  in  which  the  repetition  of  the  buildings  was 
understood,  and  in  the  particular  conception  that  I 
have  not  yet  seen  in  any  Roman  work,  neither  in  the 
Forum,  nor  on  the  Palatine,  nor  at  Tivoli,  and  also  in 
the  conception  of  decorative  space.  But  have  I  read  all 
that  is  revealed  in  the  history  of  antique  architecture? 
The  fact  is  that  Pompeii  was  nourished  by  Naples 
more  than  by  Rome,  and  the  towns  like  Amalfi  and 
Passtum  were  her  own  sisters.  Look  at  that  triangular 
Forum  and  say  that  it  is  not  a  pure  Athenian  smile.  A 
bicom — or  rather  a  tricom — public  place  at  the  foot 
of  the  ramparts  was  a  place  to  decorate.  From  the 
angle  opposite  the  walls  begins  a  colonnade  upon  which 
is  enthroned  the  statue  of  Marcellus.  This  colonnade 
extends  the  whole  length  of  the  two  sides  of  the 
triangle,  and  to  hide  the  third  side,  that  of  the  ram- 
parts, was  raised  a  temple  parallel  with  them.  I 
climbed  upon  the  base  of  this  temple,  so  strangely 
placed  that  one  of  the  angles  is  exactly  in  the  axis  of 


204  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

one  of  the  points  of  the  triangle.  There  I  fell  to 
thinking  first  of  the  ingenuity  of  the  equilibrium  of 
the  arrangement  which  the  Greek  genius  always  knew 
how  to  develop,  afterwards  of  all  the  Pompeian  land- 
scape. This  triangular  Forum  is  less  noble  than  the 
other;  it  is  more  beautiful,  perhaps;  less  pure,  more 
worked,  caressed,  one  might  say,  with  the  discernment 
of  a  people  of  harmonious  taste,  educated  to  the 
beauty  of  line  by  the  mountain  peaks  that  form  their 
horizon.  From  this  platform  of  the  Doric  temple,  I  see 
the  entire  chain  of  Salerno.  Stabiae,  which  hides  Castel- 
lammare,  Sorrento,  Capri;  then,  on  the  other  side,  is 
Vesuvius,  the  great  spectator  of  country  that  he  holds 
for  ever  under  his  menace,  the  great  Vesuvius  with  the 
feather  in  his  cap,  which  can  be  so  placid  under  his  vast 
mantle  the  colour  of  Spanish  tobacco  as  it  appears  in 
the  noonday  sun;  and,  then,  there  is  the  sea,  blinding 
as  a  mirror,  slyly  placed  so  as  to  flash  into  our  eyes,  the 
entire  bay  lying  before  us.  At  the  foot  of  all  these 
splendours,  Pompeii  displays  her  rags  upon  her  ruined 
body.  When  Vesuvius  destroyed  her,  he  had  the 
decency  to  cover  his  work;  she  made  him  ashamed, 
stretching  out  in  the  light  of  day  under  his  eyes  all  the 
blemishes  he  had  made  in  her  beauty,  in  that  beauty 
of  form,  of  composition,  and,  before  all  others,  that  of 
this  triangular  Forum  wherein  I  find  the  august  graces 
of  Pajstum. 


PALyEOPOLIS  205 


No  people  ever  understood  as  did  the  Greeks  the 
necessity  of  harmony  between  their  buildings  and 
their  landscapes.  Indeed,  the  word  harmony  is  not 
strong  enough;  the  landscape  was  included  in  their 
works — temple,  theatre,  or  public  square,  was  so 
placed  as  to  combine  the  pleasure  to  be  derived  from 
nature  with  the  pleasure  afforded  by  art.  All  was 
mingled  and  the  one  made  to  sustain  the  other;  the 
mountains  and  the  porticoes  but  one  beautiful  effect 
when  placed  together.  In  Sicily  the  temples  make  this 
combination  better  than  here.  Here,  even  in  this 
matter,  I  see  the  "  factory"  taste.  If  you  look  at  the 
Great  Fonmi  of  Pompeii,  comparing  it  to  the  triangular 
Forum,  you  will  see  that,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the 
Romans  who  built  it  had  Vesuvius  for  their  picture, 
they  took  it  less  into  consideration  than  themselves; 
they  wanted  to  show  off  their  own  greatness,  thinking 
more  of  their  own  pride  and  things  that  would  mani- 
fest their  prestige  than  of  general  harmony  in  the  work 
they  were  producing.  There  are  two  sorts  of  public 
spirit  which  Pompeii  alone,  perhaps,  makes  it  possible 
for  us  to  define,  at  any  rate,  to  feel  the  influence  of. 
The  triangular  Forum  in  front  of  the  mountains  of 
Castellammare  is  more  divine  than  the  other,  solemn 
as  that  may  be,  because  it  is  a  work  of  art  achieved 
in  the  setting  of  nature. 

What  seems  to  me  still  more  striking,  when  we  leave 


206  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

the  works  of  the  public  square  for  those  of  more  in- 
timate character,  is  that  the  Romans  reduced  the 
purely  intellectual  Greek  art  to  serve  their  own  social 
genius,  making  the  Roman  art  rather  exclusively 
monumental.  In  familiar  usage,  too,  the  Greeks  had 
an  eye  for  harmony  for  its  own  sake  that  the  Romans 
possessed  in  less  degree.  Near  the  Forum  you  see  the 
Temple  of  Apollo.  The  Romans,  you  see,  did  not 
hesitate  to  repeat  in  this  the  Temple  of  Jupiter  which 
stood  near.  You  note  the  same  area  surrounded  by 
porticoes,  the  same  sub-basement  raised  to  the  height 
of  the  steps,  the  same  columns  equally  distributed. 
The  Romans  adopted  a  certain  style  of  temple  that 
they  made  use  of  everywhere  for  the  convenience  of 
their  cult,  without  troubling  themselves  as  to  its  suita- 
bility, from  an  artistic  standpoint,  to  the  things  and 
the  landscape  among  which  it  was  placed.  No  doubt 
Greek  temples  were  repeated,  too;  but  they  were  re- 
peated on  account  of  their  situation,  because  of  the 
landscape,  not  merely  because  it  was  a  temple.  When 
the  question  was  solely  the  style  of  the  temple,  we  see 
personality  freely  expressed.  If  the  situation  did  not 
require  the  rectangular  development,  of  which  the 
Parthenon  is  the  masterpiece,  the  Greek  genius  eman- 
cipated itself  at  once;  and  it  achieved  that  wonder,  so 
often  praised,  the  Temple  of  Isis  at  Pompeii. 

Standing  on  a  little  street,  leaning  against  a  theatre 


PAL^EOPOLIS  207 

that  crushes  it,  the  Temple  of  Isis,  which  came  from 
Greece  by  way  of  Egypt,  where  it  picked  up  its  cult  in 
passing,  can  have  resembled  no  other,  and  we  possess 
in  it  today  one  of  the  most  original  buildings  of  an- 
tiquity. The  court  is  surrounded  by  a  portico  on 
three  sides,  the  fourth  side  being  entirely  occupied  by 
the  altar.  That,  standing  on  a  platform  reached  by 
several  steps,  is  a  complete  monument.  The  back 
wall  is  flanked  by  two  aisles  in  which  there  are  niches 
for  statues.  An  entire  little  world,  created  by  the  rites 
of  the  cult,  clusters  around  this  enclosure ;  the  dwellings 
of  the  priests,  the  ablution  chambers,  the  vaults 
necessary  to  a  mysterious  cult  in  which  the  initia- 
tion played  so  important  a  part.  In  the  midst  of  all 
these  things  how  far  we  are  from  such  temples  as  that 
of  Apollo!  The  charm  of  the  Isis,  the  artistic  details 
aside,  lies  almost  entirely  in  its  restrained  grace  and — 
we  must  come  back  to  that — in  its  harmony.  You 
may  be  quite  sure  that  the  reason  why  it  has  en- 
chanted so  many  men  gifted  with  an  exquisite  sense 
of  beauty  is  because  it  was  built  with  the  sole  pur- 
pose of  making  it  appropriate  to  its  use — a  use 
providing  a  purpose  such  as  it  will  require  many  cen- 
turies to  find  again  in  the  mind  of  a  builder.  Its 
square  was  furnished  with  a  prodigious  understanding 
of  all  necessities.  Everything  is  arranged  with  judg- 
ment and  modesty.     Oh,  those  whose  faith  shook  off 


2o8  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

their  sleep  every  morning  to  celebrate  the  resurrection 
of  the  day  may  have  wished,  no  doubt,  to  raise  their 
clamour  upon  the  ramparts,  face  to  the  East,  looking 
towards  the  sea  which  brought  the  vesssel  of  Isis! 
But  this  cult,  a  stranger  on  Roman  soil,  must  have 
been  obliged  to  moderate  its  transports.  In  the  space 
that  a  prosperous  Pompeian  merchant  would  have 
found  insufficient  for  his  house,  the  Greek  genius 
developed  itself  intimately  in  luxurious  refinement  and 
in  harmony.  This  ideal  harmony  that  the  Greek  was 
always  seeking  he  concentrated  here,  and  since  neces- 
sity held  him  within  narrow  limits,  he  kept  everything 
closely  together  perforce.  All  is  small,  like  a  chapel 
rather  than  a  temple;  the  colimms  are  those  of  a  peri- 
style, not  of  a  public  building,  the  altar  of  a  lararium, 
not  of  a  forum;  the  niches  are  more  for  small  fountains 
than  for  statues.  Yet,  if  this  is  true  of  the  size,  no- 
thing fails  to  bloom  in  majesty,  to  develop  in  grace. 
The  Greek  genius  knew  how  to  command  itself  under 
all  circumstances.  Wherever  it  is  led  it  keeps  its 
equilibrium,  is  comprehensive  and  appropriate. 

Let  us  look,  in  comparison,  at  the  most  considerable 
monument  and  incontestably  the  most  beautiful 
among  the  Roman  remains  at  Pompeii,  the  thermae 
of  the  Forum.  The  attention  given  to  majestic  ap- 
pearance more  than  to  the  necessary  requirements  is 
noticeable  at  once,  as  in  the  Temple  to  Apollo.     You 


PAL^EOPOLIS  209 


see  how  it  was  arranged  so  that  the  citizen,  wherever 
he  went,  must  have  been  impressed  with  the  grandeur 
of  the  people  among  whom  he  was  numbered.  Rome 
was  strong,  powerful,  even  weighed  heavily  at  times 
upon  those  who  had  the  honour  to  belong  to  her; 
everything  must  express  her  in  strength,  puissance,  in 
massive  form.  The  lepidarium  is  certainly  one  of  the 
most  magnificent  works  of  Roman  art,  yet  how  pon- 
derous !  The  vaulting  is  of  that  perfectly  round,  low 
form  which  is  always  a  little  crushing,  and  the  stucco 
designs  in  high  relief  make  it  fall  still  lower.  It  rests 
upon  a  cornice  with  prominent  profile,  sustained  by 
the  most  admirable  Atlases.  The  Atlases  are  in- 
numerable, one  close  against  another  as  if  they  had  to 
support  twenty  worlds.  Certainly  the  vaulting  is 
heavy,  but  it  does  not  require  this  prodigious  concen- 
tration of  strength  to  hold  it  up!  This  heaviness  is 
carried  into  even  the  small  objects — in  the  bronze 
brazier,  for  instance,  the  bronze  benches,  the  cows' 
heads.  One  is  crushed,  stifled,  the  fire  is  put  out.  It 
seems  as  if  the  Romans  used  to  say,  "Let  us  be  rich," 
in  the  excessive  and  what  we  consider  ultra-modem 
sense  of  the  word.  And  they  were  so,  even  to  little 
things  which  they  could  make  excessive  in  profusion, 
if  not  in  dimension.  Let  us  look  at  the  frigidariimi, 
cased  with  marbles,  the  walls  ornamented  with  ver- 
dure, the  vaulting  sown  with  stars,  the  frieze  showing 
14 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


a  race  course  of  cupids  upon  chariots,  on  horseback, 
trotting  with  their  own  agile  feet.  Later,  no  doubt, 
at  the  time  of  the  construction  of  the  thermae  of  Sta- 
biae  and  those  called  the  Central  Baths,  the  Romans 
became  a  little  more  refined.  But  that  they  showed 
especially  by  piercing  more  numerous  windows  along 
their  buildings;  the  decoration  remained  about  the 
same.  The  wall  of  the  palestra  of  the  thermae  of 
Stabias  seems  but  the  accumulation  of  the  most  over- 
charged frescoes.  The  vestibule  of  the  apodyterium 
of  the  same  baths  has  a  vaulted  ceiling  of  stucco  and 
a  doorway  draped  with  stucco  such  as  the  Italian  Ba- 
roque of  the  seventeenth  century  would  never  have 
dared  to  dream  of.  The  Roman  genius  has  always 
gone  straight  to  the  enormous,  the  colossal,  with  slow 
steps,  laden  with  spoils,  like  Rome  herself,  sure  of 
her  inexhaustible  fertility. 

But  was  that  puffed-up  Roman  the  only  Roman? 
Or  was  there  not  another  beside  him  who  was  without 
vanity,  refined  in  nature,  an  artist  who  preferred  the 
Temple  of  Isis  to  that  of  Apollo,  the  triangular  to  the 
Great  Forum  ?  If  so,  we  shall  find  the  proof  in  his  own 
house.  I  have  been  in  nearly  all  the  houses  of  Pom- 
peii, that  is  to  say  all  those  that  have  been  named  as 
a  sign  that  they  are  worthy  of  attention.  There  are 
some  forty  of  them  with  charming  names,  usually 
given  for  some  object  found  in  them,  such  as  the  House 


PALMDPOLIS  211 

of  the  Faun,  the  House  of  the  Bull,  the  House  of  the 
Tragic  Poet,  the  House  of  Riifus,  because  a  bust  of  that 
personage  was  enthroned  there.  Was  it,  perhaps,  the 
house  of  his  mistress  ?  It  is  nothing  to  any  one  now. 
The  House  of  the  Vettii  has  been  so  named  from  the 
seals  of  two  members  of  that  family  found  here. 
Archaeological  science  goes  too  far  when  it  tries  to  per- 
suade us  that  the  Vettii  were  inhabitants  of  this  house 
and  respectable  middle-class  people.  Either  the 
Vettii  were  on  a  visit  to  this  house  when  the  cata- 
strophe occurred  or  they  were  quite  other  than  re- 
spectable middle-class  people.  So  dissolute  were  the 
customs  of  Pompeii,  the  sign  which  welcomes  all  on 
the  very  doorstep,  and  which  one  cannot  help  seeing, 
leaves  no  room  for  uncertainty:  this  house  was  the 
dwelling  of  a  cotutesan.  There  is  in  this  picture  evi- 
dence worth  its  weight  in  gold,  a  symbol  only  too 
patent.  I  can  well  believe  that  the  middle-class 
people  owned  licentious  pictures  even  more  coarse 
than  this;  but  that  this  was  the  ornament  of  no 
middle-class  home  is  evident  from  its  position  opposite 
the  door,  against  the  casing  of  the  atrium,  in  a  place 
where  it  made  the  fact  plain  to  all  who  entered  that  it 
was  impossible  to  come  into  that  house  without  paying. 
What  one  sees  in  this  house  is  what  may  be  said  to 
apply  to  all  the  others,  the  only  differences  being  per- 
sonal, which  do  not  change  the  fundamental  facts, 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


as  there  is  no  essential  difference  between  an  apart- 
ment on  the  Boulevard  Malesherbes  in  Paris  and  that 
of  a  milliner  on  the  rue  de  Passy.  The  first  notable 
characteristic  is  the  great  intimacy  in  which  the  Pom- 
peians  lived  in  their  own  houses,  indifferent  to  the  out- 
side world.  When  the  Roman  was  within  his  own  door 
he  cut  off  all  contact  without.  Not  a  window  opened 
on  the  street.  One  of  the  surprises  of  Pompeii  is  to 
follow  along  these  prison  walls  from  street  to  street. 
There  was  not  even  an  outlet  towards  the  country. 
Those  houses  which  have  any  such  openings  today 
are  all  near  the  ramparts  which  formerly  must  have 
cut  off  the  horizon.  The  Roman's  personal  life  was 
concentrated  between  the  atrium  and  the  peri- 
stylium,  everything  centring  in  those  two  courts 
and  in  the  tablinum  between  them.  There  were  no 
distractions  but  such  as  could  be  found  here.  It  may 
be  because  of  such  seclusion  that  the  people  developed 
the  dissolute  habits  evident  to  any  one  who  looks  at 
their  paintings,  either  those  which  have  been  preserved 
here  on  the  spot  or  those  in  the  Museum  at  Naples. 
The  climate,  so  favourable  to  lounging  about  in  com- 
pany, the  temptation  of  water  always  ready  to  plunge 
into,  must  have  had  a  tendency  to  increase  the  idleness. 
And  except  to  sleep  or  for  some  momentary  necessity, 
who  would  have  thought  of  retiring  from  these  airy, 
f  ountained  courts  to  the  narrow,  windowless  bedrooms? 


PALJSOPOLIS  213 


Such  were  the  Pompeians'  dwelUngs,  and  how  they 
taxed  their  ingenuity  to  embellish  them ! 

In  the  small  space  of  the  garden  of  the  peristyle  they 
accimiulated  all  that  the  imagination  could  furnish  to 
make  the  long  hours  amusing.  They  gathered  about 
them,  also,  all  that  they  could  not  see  outside  and  that 
they  loved  so  much.  Besides  the  lascivious  and  simply 
artistic  paintings,  they  had  a  great  number  of  things 
that  reminded  them  of  the  country,  the  landscape 
hidden  from  their  sight.  A  list  has  been  made  of  the 
trees  and  plants  represented  upon  the  walls  of  Pom- 
peii: the  acacia,  the  cypress,  the  pine,  the  oleander, 
the  plane,  the  oak,  the  almond,  the  chestnut,  the 
fig,  the  walnut,  the  peach,  the  olive,  the  apple,  the  pear, 
the  grapevine,  the  acanthus,  the  aloe,  the  ivy,  the 
tamarind,  the  myrtle,  reeds,  papyrus,  the  field  daisy, 
the  hollyhock,  the  rose  campion,  the  lily,  the  Damas- 
cus rose,  the  iris,  the  gladiola,  the  narcissus,  the  wild 
and  cultivated  poppies:  everything  from  nature  that 
could  make  the  houses  more  sweet  and  gay.  Every- 
thing that  could  be  desired  was  there  under  the  eye 
and  hand.  The  Pompeians  must  have  been  able  to 
live  for  entire  weeks  without  going  out  of  their  doors, 
enjoying  all  the  comforts  of  life,  with  sun,  water,  flow- 
ers, arts,  and  friends.  The  love  of  being  at  home  must 
have  been  developed  to  the  extreme.  Outside  ac- 
tivity may  have  been  easily  satisfied  by  a  little  shout- 


214  ^1   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

ing  in  the  Forum  or  by  the  public  spectacles;  the  chief 
attraction  was  the  fresh  and  quiet  home.  We  have 
not  many  Roman  houses  in  Rome.  Those  of  Livy 
and  that  of  John  and  Paul  are  far  enough  away  from 
these.  Certainly  there  is  something  that  separates 
Rome  from  Pompeii,  and  that  something,  I  believe,  is 
Greek  culture,  assuredly  very  great  in  Rome,  but  much 
more  pronounced  here  by  reason  of  natural  inclina- 
tions. ' 

In  building  themselves  Roman  houses,  the  Pom- 
peians  immediately  raised  them  to  the  level  of  the 
triangular  Forum  and  the  Temple  of  Isis.  In  their 
Great  Forum  and  their  baths,  their  taste  for  public 
ostentation  was  satisfied.  They  were  proud  to  be  a 
part  of  the  grand  and  powerful  Republic,  and  their 
public  acts  were  still  grandiloquent.  But  at  home 
they  again  felt  the  influence  of  their  refined  training 
under  the  porticoes  covered  with  frescoes,  among 
stuccoed  and  painted  coltmins,  himg  with  garlands,  in 
the  midst  of  flowering  borders,  fountains,  and  statues. 
In  their  own  houses,  the  Pompeians  at  once  became 
sensitive  and  refined.  They  quickly  picked  up  the 
Greek  education  that  Rome  had  imported  and  they 
carried  it  very  far.  In  these  Pompeian  houses  there 
is  a  wonderful  sense  of  colour,  harmony,  and  propor- 
tion. What  beautiful  reds  and  yellows  for  those 
brown  bodies !  All  the  statues  are  small  reductions  of 


PAL^EOPOLIS  215 

the  ancient  Greek  masterpieces,  little  and  exquisite. 
Everywhere  is  the  supreme  flower  of  the  artist's 
heart,  which  the  Greeks  knew  how  to  gather  with  so 
much  good  sense;  beauty's  need  to  avoid  being  lonely. 
Indeed,  the  scarcity  of  these  intimate  objects  beside 
the  abundance  of  the  public  statuary  is  noticeable.  In 
the  houses  there  was  no  ostentation,  no  fagades,  no- 
thing to  be  seen  from  without.  But  there  was  socia- 
bility and  a  profound  sense  of  the  essentially  beautiful. 
Beauty  requires  diffusion  and  collective  effect;  it 
should  act  en  masse  to  be  fully  effective.  And  its 
great  law  is  to  take  divers  forms.  An  action  may  be 
right,  but  neither  an  act  nor  a  verse,  and  still  less  a 
body,  can  be  beautiful  except  with  other  equally  excel- 
lent representations.  Good  wine  should  be  tasted  in 
cut  glass;  a  beautiful  woman  should  lie  on  silk  cushions; 
a  statue  should  not  blush  for  its  surroundings;  the 
clear  water  of  a  fountain  should  not  reflect  grimaces. 
The  Romans,  and  particularly  the  Pompeians,  in  spite 
of  their  "imperialistic"  excesses,  had  a  thoroughly 
Greek  sense  of  complete  beauty.  No  city  can  furnish 
more  pre-eminent  proof  than  Pompeii  of  the  superiority 
of  the  education  of  the  race.  This  all-powerful  Roman 
people,  by  their  origin  and  political  development,  pre- 
simiptuous  and  given  to  excess,  allowed  themselves 
to  go  unrestrained  in  their  public  manifestations,  but, 
once  in  their  own  homes  again,  good  sense  returned  and 


2i6  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

the  Greek  ideal  which  they  loved  and  upon  which 
also  they  had  been  brought  up,  triumphed.  This  was 
more  true,  no  doubt,  at  Pompeii,  which  was  in  itself 
somewhat  Greek,  than  in  any  other  Roman  city.  No 
doubt  also  the  description  that  Pliny  the  Younger 
gives  us  of  his  Tuscan  city  indicates  a  little  too  lively 
materialism.  In  spite  of  that,  and  in  this  very  de- 
scription, we  find  the  harmony  that  Rome  brought 
back  from  her  Oriental  conquests.  In  the  Pompeian 
house,  as  in  the  triangular  Fonmi  and  the  Temple  of 
Isis,  it  is  Greece  that  rules  with  her  perfect  taste. 

Pompeii  having  the  superiority  of  being  a  luxurious 
city,  a  city  of  pleasure,  we  naturally  find  here  Roman 
life  at  its  maximimi  of  civilization.  Of  course  a  Saint 
Germain  does  not  give  a  complete  idea  of  French  life, 
but,  at  least,  it  gives  an  exact  idea  of  the  tastes  of  the 
ruling  classes  of  the  twentieth  century.  Of  all  the 
cities  and  towns  seated  at  the  foot  of  Vesuvius,  Pom- 
peii occupies  the  best  place.  Her  neighbour  Stabiae 
must  have  joined  her  once,  as  Trouville  and  Deauville 
join  in  our  day,  forming  a  vast  seaside  resort  whose 
beach  was  supplemented  by  the  rare  addition  of  a  great 
field  for  sports  and  other  out-of-door  recreations. 
The  choice  of  this  site  between  the  sea  and  the  moun- 
tain, on  the  edge  of  a  plain,  and  with  the  distant  view 
of  the  high  hills,  the  restraint  and  the  freedom  of  the 
placing — all,  also,  prove  the  presence  of  the  Greek 


PALyEOPOLIS  217 


spirit  in  the  very  foundation  of  Pompeii.  The  build- 
ing of  the  Forum  and  the  Temple  of  Jupiter  at  the 
right  of  the  volcano  bespeaks  their  sacred  origin. 

One  of  the  greatest  difficulties  in  the  way  of  the 
traveller's  study  of  the  ruins  of  Rome  is  their  dryness. 
The  mind  must  be  perpetually  rehabilitating.  The 
skeleton  is  bare;  it  must  be  indefatigably  covered  with 
its  flesh  and  dressed  with  its  clothes.  But  Pompeii  is 
dressed.  The  profound  charm  of  Pompeii  resides  in 
its  being  so  easy  to  understand.  It  is  a  beautiful  book 
wide  open  where  the  dullest  may  read  without  fatigue, 
if  not  with  discernment.  The  kings  carried  away  to 
their  own  cabinets  all  the  things  that  they  excavated, 
but  with  what  is  left  we  can  easily  replace  in  our 
imaginations  all  that  has  disappeared.  In  seeing  the 
atria  and  the  peristylia  we  become  more  indulgent 
toward  every  sort  of  decoration  not  grand  in  itself, 
but  adapted  to  its  place.  The  Dancing  Faun,  the  Bull, 
on  the  border  of  their  impluvium,  the  bust  of  Coecilius 
Jucundus,  along  its  casing,  and  the  great  paintings  of 
the  cubicula  are  not  perfect  expressions  of  art,  but 
they  are  all  expressions  of  art  perfectly  adapted  to 
their  purpose  which  is  to  make  the  house  fresh  and 
pleasing.  They  represent  nothing  in  particular,  al- 
though based  upon  the  old  Greek  mythology ;  but  they 
all  tend  towards  the  one  end  of  offering  something 


2i8  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

charming  to  see.  Even  if  the  Child  with  the  Goo^e 
does  spit  water  into  the  marble  basin,  that  expresses 
a  more  subtle  thought  than  a  mere  jet  of  water  in  a 
dish.  Verrocchio  was  moved  by  the  same  inspiration 
when  he  made  the  Child  with  the  Fish  that  is  now  in  the 
cortile  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  at  Florence.  All  this 
we  see  little  by  little,  from  door  to  door,  from  ostia  to 
tablina;  the  awakening  of  life  as  we  pass,  like  the 
flowers  that  bloomed  at  the  passing  of  Proserpina. 
At  the  end  of  an  hour  we  feel  the  ample  toga  upon  our 
shoulders,  freshly  come  back  from  the  fuller,  and  when 
we  enter  the  baths  at  Stabise  we  make  the  motion  of 
throwing  the  discus. 

Not  a  house  in  Pompeii  that  does  not  interest  us. 
We  find  there  the  things  that  suit  all  tastes.  The 
visitor  may  choose  what  pleases  him  best.  Two  or 
three,  perhaps,  may  please  less  frivolous  minds,  and 
they  are  the  houses  found  outside  the  Herculanean 
Gate.  The  spectacle  of  the  Appian  Way  is  here  repro- 
duced, less  grandiose,  less  ruined  also,  more  reduced, 
but  fuller,  simpler,  and  more  intimate;  a  street  of 
tombs  in  the  manner  of  that  of  Rome,  ranking  \nth.  it 
and  having  its  flowery  beauty.  The  family  tombs,  the 
pigeonholes  with  dusty  urns,  stand  in  line  and  capri- 
cious rank  before  us,  each  having  its  own  personal 
physiognomy,  so  little  of  a  funereal  aspect  that  they 
rather  suggest  thoughts  of  grace  and  peace.    What 


PALyEOPOLIS  219 


prouder  entrance  could  a  city  have  than  this  under  the 
happy  and  smiling  inspection  of  its  ancestors!  The 
villas  said  to  have  been  those  of  Cicero  and  Diomede 
shine  among  these  tombs,  opening  above  the  walls 
upon  the  country  that  they  embrace  with  a  love  as 
infinite  as  itself. 

It  is  an  easy  task  to  replace  here,  as  everywhere  else 
in  Pompeii,  the  statues  and  frescoes  and,  above  all, 
the  thousand  little  objects  now  lodging  in  the  Naples 
Musevun.  Mediocre  as  are  the  pictures  judged  by 
standards  of  art,  they  are  friends  now  that  we  love 
them  for  their  domestic  life,  and  the  memories  to  which 
we  are  obliged  to  have  recourse,  since  they  are  no 
longer  there,  embellish  them  still  more.  Rings, 
bracelets,  necklaces,  cameos  and  intaglios,  trinkets, 
stylets,  tablets,  cups,  saucers,  plates,  scissors,  needles, 
thimbles,  all  the  instruments  of  all  the  professions, 
they  leave  their  prim  order  in  the  Museum  and  are 
here  with  us,  lying  in  their  true  places,  ready  for  use. 
From  the  little  Pompeian  Museum  we  have  brought 
the  bodies  of  the  very  beings  who  lived  in  this  long 
buried  city  and  have  set  them  at  their  ease  in  the 
tablinum  to  tell  us  of  all  they  passed  through,  while, 
upon  the  monopodium  we  prepare  the  ccena  from  the 
cinderized  foods  we  have  stolen  from  the  Naples 
Museum. 

This  amusement  of  rehabilitating  the  people  as  they 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


lived  in  their  own  houses  is  the  great  joy  of  Pompeii 
which  we  must  make  the  most  of  in  spite  of  all  the 
learned  archaeologists  are  doing  day  after  day  to  hinder 
us.  Alas!  the  visitor  to  Pompeii  has  been  obliged  for 
several  years  to  demolish  much  more  than  to  recon- 
struct in  his  thought.  If  he  wants  to  arrange  under 
the  porticoes  and  about  the  fountains  all  the  little 
bronzes  he  stuffed  into  the  pockets  of  his  mind  when 
he  was  at  the  Naples  Museum  and  to  spread  upon  the 
walls  the  load  of  frescoes  he  is  carrying,  he  will  have 
first  to  wipe  out  a  good  deal  of  the  modem  work 
of  those  too  zealous  scholars.  Poor  House  of  the 
Vettii,  which  the  archaeologists  especially  admire 
and  which  is  the  most  displeasing  that  an  artist 
could  find!  The  paintings  are  under  glass;  the  cu- 
bicula  have  been  made  into  cellars;  the  porticoes 
show  beams  that  have  been  repainted  or  are  entirely 
new;  the  tricliniimi  is  shut  by  great  blinds;  an  iron 
handrail  bars  the  peristylium,  and  jets  of  water  spurt 
out  indiscreetly.  Poor  House  of  the  Silver  Wedding, 
with  atrium  entirely  reconstructed  in  iron  and  cement, 
bricks,  and  new  gutters !  Poor  Amorini,  Centenario, 
Sallust,  poor  Forum  down  whose  entire  length  runs  a 
Decauville !  At  every  step  we  are  outraged  as  rudely 
as  the  ruin,  whose  grotesque  make-up  is  as  repulsive  to 
us  as  that  picture  which  is  said  to  be  Giotto's,  at 
Santa  Chiara,  in  Naples,  but  which  has  disappeared 


PAL^OPOLIS  221 

under  a  load  of  tinsel.  The  misfortune  (and  the 
punishment)  of  precise  minds  is  their  insensibility  to 
the  imagination.  The  beauty  of  a  dream  escapes 
them  and  is  eternally  lacking  to  them.  They  can 
never  create.  They  know  everything  except  the  es- 
sential, the  soul  of  things.  How  much  more  Pompeii 
lives  in  our  minds  than  under  their  fingers!  They 
have  no  confidence  in  the  intelligence  of  the  passing 
visitor,  nor  yet  in  his  instinct ;  under  pretext  of  aiding 
him  they  impose  upon  him  a  task  a  hundred  times 
more  delicate  than  that  of  merely  appreciating  the 
ruins,  that  of  trying  to  see  where  the  ancient  leaves  off 
and  the  modem  begins,  to  pull  down  walls,  to  throw 
the  tiles  of  the  roofs  to  the  winds,  to  break  and  shatter 
the  windows.  They  have  wanted  to  give  us  a  Pom- 
peii in  which  we  need  not  be  forced  to  create  our  own 
visions;  but  we  must  just  the  same,  only  before  we  can 
do  so  must  we  destroy  in  our  imaginations  the  one 
they  have  given  us.  It  would  have  been  so  simple  not 
to  touch  what  they  found!  What  more  need  they 
have  done  than  to  gather  up  the  things  that  were 
scattered  about  on  the  ground  and  carry  them  to  the 
Museum  ?  The  aspect  of  these  objects  in  the  Museum 
is  less  falsified  than  among  the  novelties  where  they 
are  preserved  on  the  spot.  The  cleverest  restorations 
can  never  bring  back  that  which  no  longer  exists. 
The  poet  only  tells  the  truth  when  he  tells  his  dream 


.4   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


without  ever  pretending  that  it  is  anything  but  a 
dream.  So  should  it  be  with  ruins;  they  should  speak 
their  own  thought  to  us,  not  that  of  others  who  have 
deciphered  them  and  interpreted  them — and  thereby 
falsified  them.  These  restorations  are  the  infliction 
of  Pompeii.  Her  excavators,  her  experts  have  wanted 
to  do  too  well ;  and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  they  have  lost 
to  us  forever  the  true  vision  of  Pompeii  which,  if  we 
had  been  left  to  the  mere  ruins,  we  might  have  approx- 
imated unto,  at  least. 

But  what  are  these  defects  beside  the  wonder  of  the 
daily  resurrection  called  up  by  each  act  of  the  visitors  ? 
Pompeii  is  not  dead.  Nor  has  she  come  to  life.  Sim- 
ply, she  continues  to  live.  Let  us  touch  these  stones 
with  respect.  When  they  were  swallowed  up  it  was 
not  to  verify  the  wisdom  of  the  fool  who  wrote  upon 
the  wall  of  one  of  the  houses,  where  we  see  them  today, 
the  words  sodom,  gomorrah.  On  the  contrary,  it  was 
to  keep  for  Goethe's  posterity,  immediate  posterity  too 
often  showing  itself  ungrateful,  the  lesson  of  grandeur 
and  beauty. 


OTTAJANO 


••;>^^;^,s^^pii>^''"'''Mi^/^'v^'v^'' 


Vesuvius' 


0        1         t        3       *r      i 
MILSS 


EigHtK  Day 

IN  MEMORY  or  PLINY 

Hercvilanexim 

FTER  passing  the  Carmine,  following 
the  Marinella  and  crossing  the  Se- 
beto,  il  bel  Seheto  accolto  in  piccolo 
I  fluvio,  as  Sannazaro  sings,  the  Nea- 
politan tramway  passes  through  the 
easterly  outskirts  of  the  city.  These  suburbs,  as 
suburbs  should,  seem  to  be  trying  to  leave  behind 
them  the  infamy  and  inequalities  of  the  most  sordid 
quarters  of  Naples.  In  the  sunlight  of  a  broad  street 
this  cynical  misery  is  frightful  to  see.  The  killing 
sensation  that  oppresses  me  as  I  pass  through  this 
human  renunciation  is  like  that  felt  before  certain 
phenomena  of  nature,  such  as  the  ruins  of  Messina, 

223 


224  ^1   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

or  the  sea  of  pebbles  in  the  PugHa,  the  undreamt-of 
sensation  of  a  hidden  strength  suddenly  revealed, 
which  makes  us  tremble  most  of  all  because  we  feel 
that  it  is  irremediable — that  it  is  fatal  as  death.  It  is 
heartbreaking  to  see  it ;  even  to  read  a  description  of 
it  would  be  heartbreaking  if  any  pen  other  than  that 
of  an  apostle  or  a  satirist  could  depict  it.  Of  course 
it  is  the  misery  of  the  poor  over  whom  we  weep,  but 
whom  we  cannot  bring  ourselves  to  touch  with  all  our 
pity.  We  shrink  within  ourselves,  we  become  small 
as  men  involuntarily  feel  themselves  diminish  in  size 
when  in  the  midst  of  some  great  cataclysm  beyond 
their  comprehension. 

Here,  for  example,  at  a  place  along  the  route  called 
"the  Granili"  (for  the  great  red  building  which  is  a 
granary  and  barracks)  is  a  tall  house  on  whose  ground 
floor  is  a  cheap  eating-place  for  the  workmen  of  the 
neighbouring  factories.  That  is  nothing  extraordi- 
nary, is  it?  Yet  one  must  have  seen  it  to  know  what 
human  abasement  is,  what  sad  beasts  we  are.  Is  it 
possible  upon  this  earth  of  men  that  beings  like  our- 
selves can  seat  themselves  at  those  tables  oozing  with 
grease  mingled  with  soot  and  mud,  that  they  can  lay 
their  bread  upon  tablecloths — for  there  are  table- 
cloths— upon  which  have  been  spilled  the  glasses  of 
at  least  three  generations,  and  the  gravy  of  a  thousand 
plates,  that  they  can  eat  what  comes  out  of  those  pots 


IN  MEMORY  OF  PLINY  225 

boiling  with  the  sickening  odour  of  poisonous  tripe  and 
decayed  vegetables  which  have  gone  through  the  form 
of  being  washed  in  the  gutter  ?  Hungry  though  they 
may  be,  can  human  creatures  eat  from  the  plates  that 
are  passed  to  them  from  that  dirty  coal-hole  where 
they  are  stacked  in  rows?  Yet  our  brothers  crowd 
in,  their  bare  feet  treading  the  dust  diluted  with  who 
knows  what  liquid,  and  seat  themselves  to  eat  in  the 
midst  of  the  foulest  refuse  left  by  dogs  and  children ! 
We  raise  our  eyes  to  avoid  this  fetid  spectacle  only 
to  gaze  upon  another  still  sadder.  Not  one  of  these 
houses  crowded  together  forming  a  continuous  village 
from  Naples  to  Torre  del  Greco  that  does  not  present 
a  highly  decorated  front.  They  are  covered  with  fes- 
toons and  shells,  arabesques  and  pinnacles,  all  in  pink 
stone;  they  are  like  the  pretty  sweets  bought  in  the 
little  shops  of  the  Granili.  This  Baroque  architecture 
in  the  midst  of  such  poverty  and  filth  and  serving  as 
the  homes  of  such  stagnant  humanity  is  strange,  sad, 
and  inexplicable  until  we  remember  that  it  was  over 
this  road  that  the  kings  of  old  used  to  travel  from 
Naples  to  Portici,  even  as  we  are  doing  today.  Re- 
membering how  important  it  was  to  present  a  pleasing 
front  to  those  kings,  we  read  our  history  over  again  in 
this  long  stretch  of  theatrical  scenery  set  for  the  pass- 
ing of  the  royal  pomp.  The  pompous  royalty  has 
disappeared,  the  scenery  remains  for  the  lazzaroni  to 

IS 


226  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

raise  their  families  in.  Out  of  these  great ,  pretentious 
palaces  go  the  beings  who  seek  their  sustenance  in  the 
filthy  holes  of  the  Granili — and  not  there  alone,  but 
for  miles  along  this  road,  where  we  scan  palace  after 
palace,  looking  in  vain  for  the  oasis  of  a  simple  cabin. 

As  we  approach  Portici,  however,  the  houses  be- 
come cleaner.  Close-cropped  gardens  begin  to  show 
behind  gates  and  beyond  vaulted  passages.  Above 
the  doors  are  seen  little  signs  with  the  Italian 
equivalent  of  "To  Let."  The  windows  have  green 
blinds,  the  roofs  are  surmounted  by  terraces;  kiosks 
appear  pointing  towards  the  blue  sky,  and,  in  another 
moment,  we  are  in  sight  of  the  shining  sea.  In  fact, 
beyond  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  along  this  coast  ex- 
tend innumerable  villas  where  the  families  of  the  pros- 
perous business  people  of  Naples  come  to  breathe  the 
pure  air  and  to  bathe  in  the  sea  during  the  summer 
months.  The  wonder  is  that  they  do  not  take  posses- 
sion all  along  the  way  as  far  as  San  Giovanni  a  Teduc- 
cio  and  even  to  the  Granili;  but,  although  it  is  well 
understood  that  one  must  be  somebody  to  have  a 
villa  at  Portici,  the  villegianti — the  summer  residents — 
attempt  no  redemption  of  the  wretched  suburbs  they 
hurry  through.  Portici  is  an  insignificant  village  in 
itself  at  the  foot  of  Vesuvius,  on  the  very  lava  of  the 
volcano  and  upon  the  beginning  of  the  first  rise  of  its 
steep  sides.     Portici,  but  not  its  aspect,  is  continued 


IN  MEMORY  OF  PLINY  227 

by  Resina,  another  village  with  all  its  twenty-five 
thousand  inhabitants ;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  exclusively 
made  up  of  factories  and  workmen  drawn  from  the 
surrounding  country.  It  is  but  another  repetition  of 
the  filth  and  poverty  we  know  so  well  by  this  time. 
Such  pretty  names,  and  it  sounds  so  well  (does  it  not  ?) 
to  say  we  are  going  from  Portici  to  Resina.  Cannot 
buried  Herculaneum  rise  and  throw  off  all  these 
wretched  pigeonholes  and  make  herself  known  once 
more?  Alas!  that  would  be  to  scatter  so  many 
people,  and  the  uncertain  compensation  of  beauty 
troubles  our  consciences  somewhat.  None  of  us  likes 
to  think  of  the  day  that  may  come  when  some  new 
disaster  may  change  the  form  of  this  coast,  yet  it  does 
not  cause  us  much  pain  to  think  that  the  present  form, 
which  dates  back  scarcely  three  hundred  years,  is 
extremely  liable  to  change. 

In  looking  at  the  new  configuration  of  the  places 
under  which  Herculaneum  lies  it  is  interesting  to  recall 
what  has  been  said  about  it  by  Signor  Giuseppe  di 
Lorenzo,  the  able  geologist,  who  is  also  one  of  the  most 
refined  artists  and  purest  writers  of  modem  Italy.  He 
says:  "The  borders  of  the  valley  at  the  bottom  of 
which  Herculaneum  sleeps  are  formed  on  the  east  b}' 
the  Hill  of  Pugliano  which  is  prolonged  toward  the 
north,  bearing  the  park  and  castle  of  Portici,  as  far  as 
the  rocks  of  Granatello;  on  the  south,  bearing  the 


228  A   FORTNIGHT  IX  NAPLES 

Villa  Favorita,  to  the  rocks  of  the  same  name.  The 
valley  is  thus  shut  in  on  three  sides;  the  fourth  side,  on 
the  west,  being  the  half  mile  of  beach  between  Grana- 
tello  and  the  Favorita.  These  sides  of  Pugliano  and 
the  properties  of  the  Portici  and  Favorita  villas  are 
the  exclusive  product  of  two  currents  of  lava  which 
came  down  in  1634  with  such  rapidity  that  they 
reached  the  sea  in  one  hour,  covering  different  points 
on  the  coast  between  Portici  and  Torre  Annimziata. 
It  is  that  lava  which  gives  the  present  aspect  to  the 
valley  of  Herculaneum,  having  changed  it  from  quite 
the  opposite  character,  since  in  rolling  down  to  the 
sea,  the  lava  followed  the  depression  of  the  land.  So, 
where  the  shore  now  rises,  at  Portici  and  Favorita, 
were  two  depressions,  corresponding  to  the  'two 
rivers '  mentioned  by  Sisenna  as  bounding  the  promon- 
tory on  which  stood  Herculaneimi.  But  long  before 
1 63 1  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  recognize  the  ancient 
topography  of  Herculaneimi.  Indeed,  although  the 
lavas  of  the  seventeenth  century  definitely  effaced  the 
lines  of  the  ancient  valleys,  they  themselves  were 
spread  over  masses  of  hardened  cinder  which,  from 
many  eruptions  of  the  volcano,  had  been  acciunulating 
over  the  ancient  city  during  fifteen  hundred  years, 
augmented  by  atmospheric  agents  and  by  the  hand 
of  man." 

A  valley  filled  up  and  completely  transformed  with 


Author 


Royal  Villa  of  Portici 


Author 


Herculaneiun  and  Resina 


Resina 


IN  MEMORY  OF  PLINY  229 

a  town  of  twenty-five  thousand  souls  hanging  over  a 
hole  averaging  twenty-five  yards  deep;  that  is  what 
we  see  of  Herculaneum  today.  It  is  horrible  and 
touching  enough  to  draw  tears  to  our  eyes.  The  lava, 
broken  by  a  pick  in  a  field  that  happened  to  be  vacant, 
reveals  to  us  a  dry,  grey  wall,  ugly  and  forbidding. 
Here  and  there  shoring  holds  up  accumulations  of 
earth  and  houses  perched  in  precarious  situations.  It 
seems  like  a  sort  of  abandoned  quarry  extending  an 
unknown  distance,  rich  with  beauties  we  can  only 
attempt  to  imagine,  crushed  as  they  are  under  the 
accumulated  efforts  of  nature  and  of  man.  Seen  from 
below,  Resina  is  like  the  rude  custodian  of  a  vast 
sepulchre,  the  weight  of  barbarians  upon  a  land  that 
should  make  them  blush  by  its  refinement  and  grace. 
One  thinks  of  it  as  of  Italy  when  it  was  crushed  under 
the  hordes  of  the  Huns;  as  if  the  men  up  there  were 
striving  to  keep  the  beautiful  city  from  coming  again 
to  a  life  which  would  humiliate  them.  How  many  years 
have  the  excavations  of  Herculaneum  been  undertaken  ? 
Discoveries  began  in  1 713.  A  Frenchman,  Emmanuel 
de  Lorraine,  Prince  d'Elbeuf,  having  married  the 
daughter  of  the  Prince  de  Salsa,  bought,  to  decorate 
the  villa  he  was  building  near  Portici,  some  stucco 
work  found  by  a  peasant  at  the  bottom  of  a  well  in 
his  field.  Emmanuel  soon  acquired  the  field;  he  went 
down  the  well  and  brought  up  out  of  it  a  Hercules. 


230  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

In  1738  Charles  III.  of  Naples  bought  the  entire  prop- 
erty and  continued  the  excavations ;  but  these  were 
stopped  in  1776.  Pompeii  presented  fewer  difficulties, 
and  Resina  was  growing.  Work  was  resumed  some- 
what under  Murat  and  something  has  been  done  lately, 
but  the  entire  space  that  has  been  opened  is  no  more 
than  a  good-sized  opening  for  the  construction  of  an 
underground  railway  station.  A  street  running  the 
length  of  the  excavation  is  bordered  by  houses  whose 
severity  contrasts  with  the  nice  prettiness  of  those  of 
Pompeii.  To  the  porch  of  one  of  them  clings  a  grow- 
ing bush.  That  is  all  there  is  of  Herculaneum,  yet  it 
is  a  ruin  certainly  richer  and  more  purely  beautiful 
than  the  other.  Herculaneum  was  a  simpler  city  than 
Pompeii,  less  invaded  by  the  rich  extravagance  of  the 
times,  consequently  more  strictly  Greek,  and  it  had 
been  respected  by  the  earthquake  of  '63.  When  the 
excavations  are  seriously  undertaken  what  may  we 
not  find! 

A  few  years  ago,  the  Italian  Government  voted 
toward  the  opening  up  of  Herculaneum  a  sum  corre- 
sponding to  about  £60,000  or  $300,000  (to  be  exact, 
1,500,000  lire),  a  small  fortime  that  will  be  fruitful  in 
the  hands  of  the  artist  and  scholar,  Signor  Spinazzola, 
director  of  the  Naples  Musevmi,  whose  excavations  at 
Paesttun  are  a  pledge  of  what  we  may  expect  of  this  long 
hidden  city.     In  the  meantime  we  break  our  skulls 


IN  MEMORY  OF  PLINY  231 

in  vain  against  the  lava  wall.  Sad  Herculaneum,  so 
rich  and  so  poor  at  the  same  time,  so  denuded  of  all 
attractiveness  and  yet  so  abounding  in  beauty ! 

Yet,  let  us  at  least  ask  of  Herculaneum  what  she 
can  give  us  today:  at  first  her  exalted  and  intense 
emotion  of  desire,  of  will  also  her  contribution  to 
the  different  little  problems  occupying  our  minds,  the 
different  aspects  under  which  the  bronzes  at  the  Mu- 
seum present  themselves,  the  green-blue  bronzes  of 
Pompeii,  the  green  black  of  Herculaneum.  Some 
experts  claim  that  this  difference  is  due  to  the  original 
polish,  a  theory  that  naturally  leads  us  to  believe  that 
the  bronzes  discovered  at  Herculaneum  in  the  eight- 
eenth century  now  have  their  original  tint.  Others 
contend  that  the  colours  are  the  result  of  the  burial  of 
the  cities,  Pompeii  having  been  buried  under  pumice 
stone  or  gravel  of  lava  and  cinders,  whereas  Hercula- 
neum was  inundated  by  hot  mud.  Signor  Giuseppe 
de  Lorenzo,  conscientious  geologist  as  he  is,  has 
studied  the  mineral  composition  of  the  volcanic  mat- 
ter here  deposited  and  the  salts  deposited  upon  the 
bronzes,  observing  their  reactions;  that  is  to  say,  he 
has  investigated  the  action  of  salts  and  lavas  in  their 
essences  and  in  the  traces  of  their  activity  now  con- 
gealed. His  conclusions  solve  a  scientific  problem  and 
also  fix  a  point  in  history,  at  the  same  time  affording 
us  consolation  for  the  privations  we  feel  in  not  having 


232  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Herculaneum  already  revealed  since,  thanks  to  Signor 
de  Lorenzo's  investigations,  the  excavations  may  be 
carried  on  in  the  future  with  far  better  results  than 
could  have  been  obtained  without  them. 

It  is  not  a  recent  theory  that  the  two  cities  were 
bathed  in  two  different  sorts  of  lava,  one  of  fire  and  one 
of  mud.  It  was  known  and  discussed  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  The  author  of  the  Disertatio  isagogica,  who 
had  long  studied  and  excavated  in  the  buried  city,  was 
on  his  guard  against  the  false  h3^pothesis  of  torrents 
of  mud  which,  by  their  very  composition,  would  have 
spread  into  the  depressions  and  would  not  have  cov- 
ered uniformly  both  heights  and  depths.  Now  we 
know  that  Herculaneum,  according  to  the  concurrent 
testimony  of  ancient  writers,  was  situate  upon  a 
promontory  flanked  by  valleys  through  which  rivers 
flowed.  Then,  as  the  level  of  the  streets  thus  far 
imcovered  are  from  14  to  17  metres  above  sea  level, 
at  a  distance  of  a  little  more  than  two  hundred  metres 
from  the  sea,  the  promontory  of  Herculaneum  could 
not,  as  Strabo  says,  have  ended  otherwise  than  by 
a  sharp  descent  to  the  sea,  and  the  two  valleys 
flanking  it  could  iiot  have  been  very  deep.  If  tor- 
rents of  mud  came  down  here  they  must  have 
spread  throughout  the  valleys  and  not  over  the 
height  of  land. 

"There  is  still  better  testimony  against  the  hypo- 


IN  MEMORY  OF  PLINY  233 

thesis  that  the  first  destruction  of  Herculaneum  was 
due  to  currents  of  mud.  Indeed,  it  is  clear  that 
the  streams  of  mud,  or  '  water  lava, '  as  it  is  called, 
require  water,  much  water,  to  become  liquid,  that 
nothing  less  than  a  veritable  deluge  would  be  enough 
to  make  the  matter  thrown  out  by  an  eruption  form  a 
stream  that  would  run  down  and  fill  these  valleys. 
Such  a  quantity  of  water  could  only  come  by  rain. 
Did  any  one  see  such  torrential  rains  at  the  beginning 
of  the  eruption  of  the  year  '79  ?  No  writer  speaks  of 
them,  and  their  silence  is  corroborated  by  the  geo- 
logical studies  of  the  matter  which  covered  Pompeii, 
in  which  the  top  cinders  indicate  that  a  very  deluge 
fell  upon  the  last,  or  almost  the  last,  of  the  deposit 
made  by  the  eruption,  when  the  city  was  buried  under 
three  meters  of  lapilli  or  grit  of  lava  and  ptmiice. 
The  case  was  not  widely  different  in  1906;  the  rain  and 
subsequent  mass  of  mud  did  not  make  their  appear- 
ance until  three  days  after  the  great  eruptive  phase 
that  destroyed  Ottaiano.  From  these  deductions  it 
is  now  believed  that  Herculaneum  was  buried  after 
Pompeii,  the  strange  conclusion  being  that  Pompeii, 
lying  at  the  greater  distance  from  the  crater,  was 
destroyed  by  the  fall  of  volcanic  matter  that  burst  out 
of  the  crater,  whereas  Herculaneum,  much  nearer  and 
under  the  fire  so  to  speak,  was  untouched  by  all  that 
matter  and  waited,  streets  empty  and  houses  in  place, 


234  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

to  be  buried  under  the  torrents  of  mud  poured  down 
by  the  subsequent  rains. 

"  Nothing  in  this  hypothesis  is  contrary  to  the  testi- 
mony of  the  ancient  writers  nor  to  geological  analysis. 
In  fact,  Pliny  the  Younger,  in  his  first  letter,  said  that 
his  uncle  after  having  noted  the  grandiose  pine  which 
marked  the  beginning  of  the  eruption,  and  after  having 
received  the  call  for  help  brought  by  the  sailors  from 
Retina,  the  port  of  Herculaneum,  immediately  armed 
some  quadriremes  and  set  forth.  That  was  the  first 
day  of  the  eruption,  and,  having  a  favourable  wind 
from  the  north,  the  commander  Pliny  soon  neared 
Retina;  but  approach  to  the  port  was  impossible  be- 
cause of  the  cinders,  lapilli,  and  volcanic  matter  of  all 
sorts  falling  upon  the  vessel  and  into  the  sea."  Al- 
ready the  sea  bottom  had  been  suddenly  raised  and 
the  mountain,  by  caving  in,  rendered  the  coast  un- 
approachable. Pliny,  therefore,  was  obliged  to  steer 
off  and  go  to  Stabiae  where,  still  dense  and  perilous, — 
as  they  were  to  prove  to  him, — the  falling  ptunice  and 
asphyxiating  cinders  permitted  him  to  land. 

In  this  letter  Pliny  the  Younger  makes  no  reference 
to  the  hypothetical  torrential  rains,  causing  the  no 
less  imaginary  torrents  of  mud.  He  describes  mi- 
nutely and  with  the  precision  of  a  modem  geologist  the 
divers  matters  thrown  out  by  the  volcano  and  falling 
thick  and  hot  upon  Herculaneum  and  the  places  near 


IN  MEMORY  OF  PLINY  235 

it  from  the  first  day  of  the  eruption  and  in  much 
greater  quantities  than  at  Stabiae,  the  neighbour  of 
Pompeii.  This  matter  was  made  up  of  cinders,  pum- 
ice, grit,  and  gravel  of  lava  or  lapilli  and  pieces  of  rock 
coming  from  the  Somma,  broken  and  thrown  down 
by  the  explosions.  The  soil  upon  which  Herculaneum 
lies  is  composed  of  these  different  ingredients,  formed 
in  a  thick  paste  of  cinder  more  or  less  compact  as  it 
has  been  more  or  less  agglomerated  by  its  own  weight 
and  by  the  carbonate  of  calcium  deposited  by  filtering 
water.  This  cinder  paste  contains  an  infinite  number 
of  pieces  of  pumice  ranging  from  the  size  of  a  pea  to 
that  of  a  melon,  the  same  pumice  stones  that  covered 
Pompeii  to  a  depth  of  two  metres  and  a  half.  The 
only  difference  was  that  at  Pompeii,  because  of  the 
distance  and  the  wind  which  carried  the  smallest  of 
the  stones,  they  are  of  an  almost  uniform  size  of  a  nut, 
whereas  at  Herculaneimi,  nearer  the  crater,  which,  no 
doubt,  also  opened  wider  on  the  side  toward  the  coast, 
the  stones  fell  in  greater  quantities  and  in  all  sizes, 
mingling  with  the  cinders  and  other  matter. 

It  was  exactly  the  same  kind  of  volcanic  matter  that, 
without  water  or  anything  else,  under  the  eyes  of  wit- 
nesses who  have  left  us  their  description,  burst  out  of 
the  earth  in  September,  1548,  forming  Monet  Nuovo 
between  Pouzzuoli  and  Baia.  The  parallel  is  clear  that 
the  same  tufa  covering  Herculanetun  owes  its  origin  to 


236  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

the  rapid  accumulation  of  an  enormous  quantity  of 
cinders,  pumice,  gravel,  dross,  and  rocks  which  buried 
the  entire  region  here  under  a  crust  ten  yards  thick. 

The  compact  character  of  this  tufa  is  due  to  the 
weight  of  later  eruptions  from  which  Pompeii  was 
exempt,  to  time,  and,  above  all,  to  the  carbonate  of 
calcium  deposited  by  the  water  filtering  through  it 
during  two  thousand  years.  This  compactness  varies 
according  to  the  amount  of  water  thus  filtering  into 
the  masses,  variations  such  as  are  notable  also  in  the 
Phlegraean  Fields.  In  the  highest  parts  of  Hercula- 
neum  the  excavators  are  beginning  to  find  layers  of  soft 
matter  due,  evidently,  to  the  alluvion  formed  when  the 
rains  fell,  as  were  the  pisolitic  cinders  of  the  higher 
layers  of  Pompeii.  This  theory,  based  upon  scientific 
geological  investigation,  stands  corroborated  by  the 
description  of  Pliny  the  Younger. 

"In  view  of  this,  it  is  astonishing  to  hear  any  more 
talk  about  the  alleged  conservation  of  the  problematic 
patina  of  the  bronzes  of  Herculaneum,  for  everyone 
knows  that  there  is  nothing  antique  about  that  patina, 
that  it  is  the  work  of  the  excavators  and  restorers  of 
the  eighteenth  century  who  scraped,  rubbed  down,  and 
varnished  the  masterpieces  of  Herculaneum  and  Pom- 
peii, giving  them  the  smooth  and  brilliant  surface 
wrongly  admired,  since  it  robbed  the  bronzes  of  the 
most   delicate  details   of   their  modelling.     All   the 


IN  MEMORY  OF  PLINY  237 

bronzes  of  Herculaneum,  when  they  were  taken  out, 
were  covered  by  a  malachite  green  crust  to  which  the 
tufa  adheres.  This  we  may  see  from  the  bronzes  of  the 
Villa  Pison  which  owe  to  their  artistic  inferiority  their 
escape  of  the  polishing  treatment.  Still  more  is  this 
seen  in  the  bronzes  found  at  Herculaneum  in  1875, 
now  exposed  in  the  Naples  Museum;  they  retain  in- 
tact the  malachite  green  crust  with  which  they  were 
covered  when  they  were  buried.  The  only  difference 
between  the  bronzes  of  Herculaneum  and  those  of  Pom- 
peii consists  in  the  fact  that  the  latter  were  lying  in  a 
layer  of  pumice  which  allowed  the  rains  of  the  centuries 
to  run  through  it,  and,  consequently,  are  covered,  par- 
tially or  entirely,  with  a  substance  called  azurite,  that 
is  blue  carbonate  of  copper  which  contains  more  an- 
hydrous carbon  than  malachite;  whereas  the  green  car- 
bonate of  copper,  which  has  less  of  anhydrous  carbon, 
consequently  more  water,  which  covers  all  the  bronzes 
thus  far  found  at  Herculaneum,  means  simply  that  the 
matter  in  which  they  have  been  lying  had  been  more 
impregnated  with  water  than  that  covering  Pompeii. 
Neither  the  bronzes  of  Pompeii  nor  of  Herculaneum 
have  today  any  traces  of  their  original  patina. 

"Besides,  how  could  any  one  imagine  that  the 
bronzes  of  Herculaneum  could  be  preserved  intact 
under  a  damp  soil  for  almost  two  thousand  years !  A 
moment's  reflection  should  be  enough  to  convince  one 


Mercury  in  Repose 
National  Museum,  Naples 


Dancing  Women 
National  Museum,  Naples 


Alinari 


IN  MEMORY  OF  PLINY  239 

Phlegraean  Fields  are  essentially  the  same,  it  must  not 
be  forgotten  that  the  latter  forms  a  simimit  whereas 
that  of  Herculaneum  is  at  the  base  of  a  mountain. 
One  sheds  the  water,  the  other  receives  it.  From  this 
point  Signer  de  Lorenzo  concludes: 

"  It  may  be  affirmed  without  fear  of  mistake  that  the 
tufa  of  Herculaneimi  is  a  mass  of  cinders,  piunice, 
gravel,  and  rock  thrown  out  by  Vesuvius  in  '79  and 
covered  by  later  alluvions  and  other  matter  deposited 
by  successive  eruptions,  and  made  compact  by  the 
carbonate  of  calcium  deposited  by  the  infiltration  of 
water  through  the  subsoil  of  the  country." 

At  the  base  of  this  tufa,  in  a  house  that  has  been 
discovered,  is  the  beginning  of  a  gallery  in  which  was 
found  the  famous  Bearded  Dionysus,  some  manuscripts 
of  Plato's,  besides  manuscripts  of  this  city  celebrated 
among  all  the  cities  of  its  day  for  its  literary  wealth, 
the  recovery  of  which,  if  they  should  all  be  found, 
may  mean  to  the  world  a  complete  renewal  of  the 
Greek  and  Latin  culture.  The  day  is  near  at  hand 
now  when  the  excavations  will  be  carried  on,  the  day 
when  competent  scientists  will  be  working  not  for  the 
private  collections  of  Portici,  but  for  the  Naples  Mu- 
seum, for  us. 

Before  taking  the  tram  back  to  Naples  let  us  go  in- 
to the  park  of  the  Villa  Portici,  look  through  the  iron 
gates  of  the  old  palace  surrounded  by  its  flower  garden, 


240  A  FOR  TNJGHT  IN  NAPLES 

and  take  a  long  stroll  over  its  abandoned  paths.  All 
the  ghosts  of  the  Bourbons  will  walk  beside  us,  from 
Charles  III.  to  Francesco  II.  Perhaps  then,  thinking  of 
the  greatness  of  their  epoch  and  their  stupidity,  you  will 
feel  indulgent  toward  them,  for  what  they  did  here. 
The  Savoy  monarchy,  in  deciding  at  length  to  seriously 
undertake  the  Herculaneimi  excavations,  has  under- 
stood what  it  must  do  if  it  would  not  stand  inferior  in 
this  matter  to  the  preceding  monarchies  which  it  sur- 
passes in  all  other  matters.  Disinterested  scholars 
will  follow  up  the  fruitful  task  at  the  end  of  which  lies 
a  glory  that  can  never  radiate  from  Pompeii,  for  we 
know  her  now  and  that  she  hides  no  rarity  and  no 
possible  novelty. 


NintH  Day 

THE  TWO  UBUS.  RINGS  OF 
NAPLES 

Vomero,  Ferdinand 

IV.  of  Naples. 
I.  of  tKe  T"wo  Sicilies 
Oastellammare,  Ferdinand  II 

BOVE  the  Villa  Nazionale,  on  the  very- 
edge  of  the  hill  at  whose  foot  Naples 
stretches  out,  and  dominating  all  the 
bay  from  Miseno  to  Minerva,  is  a 
great  park  with  trees  a  hundred  years 
old  and  thickets  of  camellia  bushes  threaded  with 
pleasant  paths.  It  is  the  ancient  Villa  Floridiana, 
today  divided  into  the  two  villas  Floridiana  and  Lucia. 
The  first  has  a  great  white  house  in  the  midst  of  a 

magnificent  park  with  a  ruined  temple  and  a  minia- 
17  241 


242  A    FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

ture  antique  theatre,  wonderfully  arranged  with 
bushes  serving  as  the  scenery  and  a  semicircle  of 
steps  decorated  with  growing  oleanders  and  camellias. 
The  Villa  Lucia  is  a  large  red  house  giving  upon  a 
terrace  where,  on  the  occasion  of  the  visit  of  a  foreign 
fleet,  the  ships'  officers  have  enjoyed  the  memorable 
sight  of  the  illumination  of  the  harbour.  Indeed,  Ad- 
miral Corsi  used  to  receive  the  sailors  here,  also,  with 
the  courteous  hospitality  continued  by  his  widow  to 
visitors  desirous  of  seeing  the  house  with  the  Pompeian 
peristyle  built  by  Ferdinand  in  1815.  Soon  after  he 
purchased  the  estate  for  his  morganatic  wife,  the 
Duchess  of  Floridia.  In  these  two  villas,  Ferdinand 
IV.  of  Naples  (or,  giving  him  the  title  he  assumed  in 
1 8 16,  Ferdinand  I.  of  the  Two  Sicilies)  passed  the  last 
ten  years  of  his  life,  between  two  infamies.  The 
Villa  Floridiana  is  now  the  property  of  an  American 
lady,  Mrs.  Harrison,  who  does  the  honours  with  infinite 
kindness  to  any  stranger  who  can  present  himself  with 
the  recommendation  of  a  friend. 

The  bedroom  in  the  Villa  Lucia,  where  Ferdinand 
died  suddenly  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  from 
which  his  body  was  carried  in  all  haste  to  the  royal 
palace,  and  the  dining-room,  decorated  in  a  very 
pleasing  Baroque  style,  remain  as  they  were  used  by 
him  who  might  be  called  the  most  abominable  of 
kings  if  he  had  not  had  children  and  if  we  were  not 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  243 

in  the  country  of  the  Joans  of  Anjou.  The  park,  al- 
though divided  in  two  and  somewhat  cut  up,  also 
remains  as  it  was  then.  At  the  Villa  Lucia  one  sees, 
among  other  things,  the  bridge  of  access  that  Fer- 
dinand ordered  built.  A  bold  engineer  made  it 
entirely  out  of  the  small  jugs  in  the  form  of  the  am- 
phora that  we  see  in  the  streets  of  Naples  mounted  on 
little  carts  and  full  of  lemonade.  The  jug  is  called 
mummara,  and  when  the  Neapolitans  meet  a  young 
girl  with  firm,  well-shaped  figure  they  murmur:  "0 
hella  mummarella !"  Ferdinand  was  never  confident 
about  this  bridge  of  fragile  mummara  and  would  only 
pass  over  it  behind  a  regiment. 

As  we  wander  over  these  shady  paths  why  do  we  not 
meet  the  ghost  of  Ferdinand,  called  the  Nasone,  the 
Big  Nose?  It  is  for  him  that  we  stroll  here  and  for 
that  monstrous .  nose  that  used  to  appear — after  the 
fashion  of  the  Satyrs — among  the  branches  of  the 
trees.  Never  did  Nature  ornament  a  visage,  unless  it 
were  of  a  tapir  or  an  elephant,  with  such  an  appendage. 
There  are  three  copies  of  his  death  mask,  one  at  San 
Martino,  one  at  the  Cuomo  Museum,  and  one  in  the 
possession  of  the  Duchessa  Guardia-Lombarda.  Fer- 
dinand was  but  a  nose,  a  veritable  pachydermatous 
trumpet  from  his  birth;  a  nose  that  became  as  long 
as  the  thigh  of  an  infant  of  three  months,  as  broad  as 
the  hand  of  a  policeman,  a  terrible  and  solemn  thing 


244  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

which,  if  Ferdinand  had  not  passed  his  life  in  running 
away  from  danger,  might  have  played  the  part  in 
battle  of  the  white  plume  of  Henry  of  Navarre. 

What  impression  would  that  nose  have  made  upon 
us  if  its  master  had  lodged  behind  it  any  honest  senti- 
ment, any  ideas?  His  most  intimate  and  blindest 
companions  admitted  his  utter  stupidity.  Foreigners 
and  discerning  people  found  him  abject.  We  must 
consider  him  from  his  birth  to  fairly  judge  him.  King 
at  eight  years  of  age,  subject  to  the  council  of  the 
Regency  presided  over  by  Tanucci,  he  showed  but  one 
inclination;  for  sport.  Tanucci  took  his  measure  at 
once;  not  a  difficult  thing  to  do  we  may  believe — and 
that  measure  was  of  a  tool,  an  instrument  to  be  taught 
docility  and,  for  the  rest,  turned  over  to  the  masters 
of  the  hunt.  In  a  few  years  Ferdinand  became  a 
colossus.  He  passed  his  time  riding  after  the  deer  and 
the  wild  boar,  breaking  horses,  contesting  prizes  at 
the  races,  and  fishing  with  nets  at  night  on  the  bay. 
After  the  hunt,  at  Portici,  he  used  to  amuse  himself  by 
dressing  up  as  a  tavern  keeper  and  pouring  out  wine 
for  himself  and  his  companions  to  drink.  At  Trianon 
royalty  played  at  being  miller  and  bailiff ;  at  Portici  the 
King  was  a  servant.  He  ate  like  an  ogre,  like  a  Bour- 
bon, it  is  true.  He  slept  eighteen  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four.  According  to  the  recollections  of  a 
courtesan,  he  was  never  seen  to  open  a  book ;  the  read- 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  245 

ing  of  Voltaire  on  the  part  of  his  subjects  was,  later, 
punished  by  death.  It  was  also  insupportable  to  him 
to  sign  the  royal  acts.  He  had  them  signed  in  his 
presence  by  a  stamp  that  he  always  carried  with  him. 
He  ordered  that  there  be  no  inkstands  on  the  council 
tables;  the  deliberations  were,  therefore,  the  sooner 
finished. 

Eight  years  after  his  father,  the  good  Charles  IH. ,  left 
the  throne  of  Naples  for  that  of  Spain — in  1767 — when 
he  was  sixteen  years  old,  Ferdinand  was  declared  of 
age,  and  the  next  step  was  to  see  him  married.  As  a 
Bourbon  of  France,  he  was  given  an  Austrian  wife, 
Marie  Caroline,  the  sister  of  Marie  Antoinette. 
Twenty  years  after  he  had  had  eleven  children,  at 
least  Marie  Caroline  had  presented  him  with  them. 
Caroline  was  a  great  battle  horse  to  whom  Ferdinand, 
always  hunting  and  returning  home  dead  with  fatigue, 
was  but  a  poor  mate.  She  found  consolation  in  the 
Prince  Caramanico  and  he  was  succeeded  in  1776  by 
Acton,  an  Irishman  in  the  service  of  Caroline's  brother, 
the  Duke  of  Tuscany.  Soon  after  his  coming  to 
Naples  he  was  appointed  Minister  of  the  Navy,  be- 
coming all  powerful,  taking  the  place  of  Tanucci,  who 
was  driven  out  because  of  his  opposition  to  the  Queen's 
taking  a  place  in  the  council.  She  purposed  govern- 
ing in  the  place  of  her  husband,  despised  by  her  as 
by  everj'^one;  and,  stimulated  by  the  example  of  her 


246  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

brother  of  Tuscany,  she  sustained  Acton  in  carrying 
on  Tanucci's  work. 

The  reforms  of  Charles  III.  were  completed  and  ex- 
tended by  others.  The  check  which  he  had  found  it 
necessary  to  put  upon  the  power  and  wealth  of  the 
clergy  was  followed  up  under  his  son.  All  the  reve- 
nues of  the  vacant  offices  of  bishops  and  abbots  were 
collected  in  the  King's  name  and  dedicated  to  public 
work.  Some  convents  were  suppressed;  eighty-eight 
in  Sicily.  Mortmain  was  limited,  and  all  wills  in 
favour  of  monks  were  annulled.  It  was  forbidden  to 
have  more  than  ten  priests  (later  more  than  five)  to 
every  thousand  souls.  Only  sons  were  prohibited  from 
taking  holy  orders.  Marriage  was  submitted  to  the 
civil  jurisdiction.  Surplice  fees  were  put  under  a 
tariff.  Allegiance  to  the  Pcpe,  which  went  back  to 
the  time  of  the  Normans,  was  suppressed.  Methods  of 
education  were  reorganized  and  taken  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  priests.  The  communes  retained  the  freedom 
of  their  own  administration ;  but  in  such  a  matter  the 
task  was  a  difficult  one  for  a  king  whose  power  lay  in 
the  strength  of  his  nobles.  Only  Murat,  without  ties, 
could  definitely  break  up  the  Neapolitan  feudalism. 
The  archives  of  the  kingdom  were  organized,  permit- 
ting the  establishment  of  official  survey  and  registry 
of  land,  registry  of  mortgage  from  which  proceeded 
the  definite  rights  of  property  and  inheritance.     A 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  247 

number  of  f armed-out  imposts  were  abolished.  The 
courts  were  made  less  arbitrary,  although  torture  still 
existed.  Even  a  commercial  code  was  established. 
It  may  be  said  that  in  1790  the  Kingdom  of  Naples 
was  in  advance  of  all  Europe.  Certain  principles  of 
the  Napoleonic  Code  flourished  there.  Acton,  Min- 
ister of  War,  of  Marine,  Captain  General,  protected 
by  an  ambitious  queen,  followed  the  course  laid  out  by 
Tanucci  except  in  one  point,  and  that  point  worried  to 
desperation  the  old  King  Charles  III.  over  in  Madrid, 
who,  in  1788,  died  a  prey  to  the  great  anxiety  over  the 
fate  of  the  kingdom  he  had  recreated. 

That  point  was  the  foreign  policy.  For  Marie  Caro- 
line there  was  but  one  alliance,  the  Austrian.  She 
dragged  Naples  into  the  German  road.  Ferdinand 
would  have  allowed  himself  to  be  allied  to  the  Grand 
Turk  if  only  he  might  be  allowed  to  hunt.  The  French 
Revolution  facilitated  the  realization  of  the  Queen's 
plans.  During  the  hours  of  the  events  of  the  5th  and 
6th  of  October  Ferdinand  was  at  Vienna  marrying  his 
two  daughters  to  archdukes  and  his  oldest  son  to  an 
archduchess.  The  news  of  a  king  and  a  queen  (his 
own  wife's  sister)  driven  out  of  their  palace  made  his 
teeth  chatter  with  fear,  while  his  family-in-law  shiv- 
ered and  vowed  vengeance.  Acton  joined  the  chorus 
from  distant  Naples.  The  King  and  Queen  returned 
home,  but  not  without  throwing  themselves  at  the  feet 


248  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

of  the  Pope,  though  he  had  been  Naples'  enemy  for 
fifty  years.  The  arrival  of  the  aunts  of  Louis  XVI. 
augmented  the  terror,  and,  under  their  influence, 
everything  was  changed  in  the  flash  of  an  eye.  Fer- 
dinand showed  himself  for  the  magnificent  coward 
that  he  was. 

"To  the  kings  who  make  war  on  us  we  will  send 
liberty!"  This  utterance,  pronounced  before  the 
Tribune  of  the  Constituent  Assembly  at  Paris,  rever- 
berated through  Naples  like  the  detonation  of  an  ex- 
ploding bomb;  the  Neapolitans  were  both  prostrated 
and  illuminated  by  it.  Liberty!  There  was  the 
cause  of  the  unhappiness  of  kings !  Foolish  Ferdinand 
who  had  been  teaching  his  subjects  that  road  for  so 
many  years !  And  Ferdinand  saw  himself  taking  the 
way  to  Varennes — if  the  people  did  not  tear  him  to 
pieces !  If  he  hoped  to  live,  liberty  must  be  suppressed 
and  all  its  germs  exterminated.  Ferdinand  had  been 
asleep  for  thirty  years,  but  he  was  awake  now !  In  the 
first  place  he  must  be  armed,  ready  to  join  the  coali- 
tion in  case  it  was  formed ;  it  would  be  a  useful  measure 
even  if  he  did  not  set  forth  to  war.  Besides,  it  was  im- 
portant to  know  what  the  Neapolitans  were  thinking. 
A  police  was  organized  which  received  all  sorts  of  in- 
formation. The  clergy,  too,  might  be  employed — 
doubly;  cajoled  and  given  instruction.  French  books 
were  prohibited.      French  refugees  were  arrested  at 


THE  TWO  UB  US,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  249 

the  frontier.  All  reunions  were  interdicted.  Punish- 
ment by  whipping  was  re-established.  People  were 
imprisoned  upon  the  simple  denunciation  of  an  in- 
former. A  State  junta  was  instituted,  in  which  was 
set  up  the  Minister  of  Police,  Medicis.  The  lazzaroni, 
that  is  to  say  all  those  whom  poverty  had  driven  into 
the  capital  from  the  country  and  who  followed  all  sorts 
of  trades  in  Naples,  especially  those  without  a  name, 
were  gathered  into  a  military  body — a  body  ready 
for  any  savagery  for  him  who  fed  and  paid  them. 

The  Neapolitan  fleet  soon  joined  that  of  the  English 
before  Toulon,  but  Bonaparte  appeared,  Toulon  was 
delivered,  and  the  fleet  returned  to  Naples.  Then 
Ferdinand  was  more  afraid  than  ever  and  took  pre- 
cautions according  to  his  nature.  He  took  the  money 
out  of  all  the  banks  of  the  realm,  lining  his  own  pockets 
and  ruining  his  people  by  way  of  being  prepared  for  the 
worst.  Whoever  might  be  denounced  as  a  liberal  was 
arrested  and  tried  secretly ;  his  defence,  sustained  only 
by  an  advocate  named  by  the  King,  was  written,  not 
pleaded;  the  case  was  tried  in  the  presence  of  the 
accused  who  had  not  the  right  to  open  his  mouth,  and 
the  judgment  was  pronounced  behind  closed  doors  by 
an  unequal  number  of  judges  so  that  the  accused  could 
not  have  the  benefit  of  a  tie.  The  sentence  was  exe- 
cuted without  appeal  and  immediately,  after  torture. 
Medicis  was  the  most  powerful  man  in  the  realm.     He 


250  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

was  young  and  good-looking.  The  Queen  did  not  fail 
to  give  him  her  usual  proofs  of  admiration,  which 
aroused  Acton  to  accuse  him  of  conspiracy,  whereupon 
the  King  made  Medicis  prisoner  at  Gaeta.  But  he 
was  to  come  back. 

Notwithstanding  all  precautions,  the  success  of  the 
French  Revolution  augmented  Ferdinand's  fears  to 
such  a  degree  that  he  signed  a  treaty  with  the  Republic, 
although  he  violated  it  straightaway,  in  fear  of  Eng- 
land mingled  with  a  delirium  of  joy  after  the  events  of 
Aboukir.  Nelson  came  into  Neapolitan  waters,  and 
then,  under  the  protection  of  that  thunder  of  war 
which  destroyed  a  fleet  at  anchor,  he  felt  that  he  could 
dare  everything.  Lady  Hamilton  then  became  the 
idol  of  the  court  of  Naples.  When  Nelson  was 
smitten  by  her,  nothing  was  refused  to  that  plaything 
whom  an  old  man,  Hamilton  the  English  Ambassador, 
had  had  the  audacity  to  marry.  Emma  Hamilton 
became  Nelson's  mistress  and  the  most  intimate  friend 
of  Marie  Caroline — was  even  invited  to  share  Her 
Majesty's  bed.  Acton  forbore  to  treat  Emma  as  he 
had  done  Medicis,  preferring  to  make  use  of  her. 

Ferdinand  was  overjoyed  with  his  good  fortune. 
The  French  were  going  to  be  crushed,  after  the  Nea- 
politans had  been  butchered.  Mack  was  called  from 
Austria  and  put  in  command  of  forty  thousand  men, 
an  army  of  brigands  and  lazzaroni  which  was  easily  el- 


THE  TWO   UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  251 

bowed  out  of  the  way  by  Championnet  on  his  march  to 
Naples.  Ferdinand  was  ready  to  fly  when  the  news 
was  brought  him,  and  the  court  was  ready  to  fly  with 
him ;  but  he  bethought  him  of  his  pennies  and  tarried 
for  three  days  to  put  his  gold  in  casks,  to  pack  jewels 
and  antique  statues  and  draw  the  capital  out  of  the 
banks  before,  under  Lady  Hamilton's  guidance,  Fer- 
dinand, Marie  Caroline,  and  their  children,  also  Acton, 
fled  by  night  to  an  English  vessel  that  set  sail  at  once 
for  Palermo.  A  terrible  storm  overtook  them  and 
Ferdinand,  thinking  that  his  last  hour  had  come,  cried 
out  to  Acton  and  his  wife  before  everyone,  "  It  is  your 
fault;  you  two  live  in  sin  and  God  is  punishing  me! " 

In  spite  of  wave  and  wind  they  arrived  at  Palermo 
and  Ferdinand  smiled  again  at  everyone.  Life  went 
on  as  usual,  including  the  company  of  the  beautiful 
Emma,  while  Championnet  entered  Naples  and  or- 
ganized the  Parthenopean  Republic.  How  could  it 
last,  how  could  a  republic  be  maintained,  in  Europe  of 
that  epoch,  by  a  people  who  had  never  governed  them- 
selves? At  any  rate  there  were  the  best  intentions  in 
the  Neapolitan  Republic  and  some  excellent  reali- 
zations. Championnet  was  often  importunate,  not 
only  by  his  necessary  presence,  but  by  his  tactless 
interference ;  but  soon,  before  Marengo,  the  ill  turn  of 
affairs  in  France  calleid  him  home.  His  departure  left 
Naples  open  to  the  army  of  the  Holy  Faith.     This 


252  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

army,  whose  commander  was  Cardinal  Ruffo  and  whose 
officers  were  the  most  celebrated  brigand  chiefs  of 
Europe,  like  Fra  Diavolo  and  Mammone,  had  begun 
its  operations  in  Calabria,  and,  slowly,  surely,  method- 
ically pillaging,  torturing,  burning  its  way,  it  advanced 
towards  Naples.  Ferdinand  from  his  safe  distance 
excited  this  brutal  horde  to  the  greatest  implacability, 
and  covered  Fra  Diavolo  with  flattering  attentions  as 
he  cajoled  Lady  Hamilton  who  was  loved  by  Nelson, 
Behind  Fra  Diavolo  and  Nelson,  Ferdinand  felt  him- 
self so  fearless  that  when  Ruffo  called  him  to  Naples  he 
Arent,  in  Nelson's  ship  and  without  Marie  Caroline.  He 
wanted  to  work  himself,  with  his  own  hands,  and  people 
should  see  if  he  was  afraid!  He  arrived  in  Nelson's 
ship,  well  surrounded  by  the  squadron,  and  there  re- 
ceived Ruffo  who  told  his  tale  of  all  that  had  happened, 
announcing  the  capitulation  of  the  Republicans  which 
insured  his  honour,  and  security  of  life  and  property,  as 
well  as  giving  him  leave  to  depart  for  Toulon  or  to 
remain  in  safety  in  Naples.  The  vessels  were  already 
unfurling  sail.  This  capitulation  was  signed  by  Ruffo 
in  the  name  of  the  King  and  by  the  representatives  of 
England  and  Russia.  Standing  on  Nelson's  deck, 
surrounded  by  the  British  squadron,  Ferdinand  de- 
manded of  Ruffo  if  he  were  making  him  the  laughing 
stock  of  the  world  by  treating  with  rebellious  and 
traitorous  subjects.     He   tore   up  the   capitulation. 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  253 

throwing  the  pieces  in  the  face  of  the  Cardinal  who,  for 
his  own  part,  was  not  overscrupulous.  The  depart- 
ing vessels  were  disarmed,  the  emigrants  thrown  in- 
to prison,  the  massacre  begun.  We  all  know  of  the 
death  of  Admiral  Caraccioli,  guilty  of  having  served 
the  Republic  as  a  soldier,  and  the  shame  that  tarnished 
Nelson's  name — that  of  having  hanged  him  at  the 
yard  arm  of  his  own  ship.  Ferdinand  took  care  not 
to  land,  resolved  to  keep  under  the  English  Admiral's 
wing  so  long  as  there  remained  a  Republican  alive  in 
Naples.  Thirty  thousand  persons  in  the  prisons  were 
to  be  gotten  rid  of  before  he  returned  to  his  own.  The 
courts  of  1 79 1  resimied  their  functions,  more  terrible 
than  ever.  Ferdinand's  knees  knocked  with  fear,  but 
he  could  command  himself  enough  to  curse  those  who 
had  brought  it  upon  him.  The  world  should  see  that 
although  he  had  fled  in  a  moment  of  cowardice,  he 
returned  a  hero,  ready  for  everything  because  duty 
demanded  it  of  him — and  because  Nelson  stood  be- 
side him.  Was  Caroline  not  there  to  further  his  under- 
takings? He  did  not  need  her ;  he  alone  would  act  and 
let  it  be  seen  that  it  was  he  who  was  the  master,  the 
King! 

It  was  indeed  he,  that  is  to  say,  a  mixture  of  ferocity, 
stupidity,  cowardice,  and  hypocrisy.  To  put  matters 
through  the  more  quickly,  offenders  were  judged 
in  private,  the  accused  in  chains  before  his  judge. 


254  ^^   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Some  heroic  scenes  were  enacted.  Fiano  the  Younger 
appeared  before  the  famous  Speciale.  He  was  inno- 
cent; but,  from  Palermo,  Marie  Caroline,  whom  per- 
haps he  had  disdained,  made  known  her  desire  to  be 
rid  of  him.  Speciale,  who  had  been  Piano's  friend 
from  childhood,  threw  himself  on  his  neck,  saying: 
"  I  will  save  you.  Say  such  and  such  things  and  you 
are  free!"  Fiano,  moved  to  tears,  with  his  friend's 
arms  about  him,  did  as  he  was  told,  but,  avowing  it  all, 
was  hanged  an  hour  later.  .  .  .  Count  Ruvo,  in- 
sulted by  the  Judge  Sambuti,  interrupted  him,  as  he 
shook  his  manacled  fists  under  the  judge's  nose,  with 
the  exclamation:  "It  is  these  chains  which  make  you 
insolent!"  For  which  outbreak  he  was  led  away 
and  killed,  his  trial  unfinished.  .  .  .  Domenico 
Cirello,  Ferdinand's  physician,  was  asked  his  age  and 
condition,  to  which  he  answered:  "  Sixty  years.  Phy- 
sician under  the  Monarchy,  representative  of  the 
people  under  the  Republic."  "And  what  are  you  in 
my  presence?"  asked  Speciale,  grinning.  "A  hero," 
was  the  answer.  Out  in  the  roads  Ferdinand's  nose 
sniffed  the  breeze  at  the  making  of  every  fresh  corpse, 
but  the  city  smelt  abominably  in  those  days,  since 
everyone,  at  least  all  of  the  cultivated  classes,  were  of 
the  same  stuff  as  Cirello.  When  the  King  felt  that 
he  had  thoroughly  terrified  his  subjects — he  who  knew 
so  well  the  terrors  of  well-nigh  all  sorts  of  fear — he  set 


THE  TWO   UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  255 

sail  again,  without  having  stepped  ashore,  returning 
to  Palermo,  where  Marie  Caroline  received  him  with 
gratitude. 

Meantime,  the  reverses  of  France  were  accentuated. 
The  hour  came  for  the  coalition  to  divide  the  spoils. 
Marie  Caroline  started  for  Vienna  with  Lady  Hamilton 
and  Nelson  to  demand  Ferdinand's  share.  On  their 
way  the  thunder  of  Marengo  broke  over  their  heads, 
and  the  Queen  entered  the  palace  of  her  nephew — still 
the  German  Emperor,  Francis  II. — with  supplications 
that  her  State  be  saved.  She  returned  to  Naples 
with  her  head  low,  but  found  the  King  calmed  by  the 
news  of  Marengo.  Never  were  the  acts  of  any  man  so 
utterly  subject  to  cowardice.  From  his  birth  to  his 
death  it  was  easy  to  divine  what  was  going  on  about 
him  by  his  manifestations  of  pusillanimity.  After 
Trafalgar  he  reopened  his  hostilities,  although  he  had 
signed  a  treaty  with  France.  Then  Napoleon  was 
angry  and  sent  down  his  army  to  throw  Ferdinand  out 
of  the  kingdom.  The  coward  bawled  madly  until  the 
coalition  heard  and  sent  him  some  Russians  and  some 
English.  But  the  man  knew  nothing  except  flight. 
At  Velletri  he  was  disguised  in  order  to  escape  the 
battle,  but  returning  in  high  glee  over  his  stratagem 
to  Caserta,  and  presenting  himself  in  his  togs  to  the 
Queen,  she  drove  him  out  of  her  room.  Then  he  fled 
once  more  to  Palermo  while  his  kingdom  was  ruled  by 


256  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Napoleon.  In  1806  came  Joseph  Bonaparte  and  after 
him  Murat  whose  name  is  blessed  to  this  day  in  Naples 
for  the  good  measures  he  introduced  to  relieve  the 
down-trodden  people. 

Living  quietly  at  Palermo,  Ferdinand  saw  the  year 
1 81 5,  wherein  he  might  return  to  his  realm,  under- 
standing, however,  that  he  could  not  show  himself 
either  hard  to  please  or  rigourous.  Without  the  Aus- 
trian army  that  was  installed  here,  he  could  not  have 
come,  so,  if  he  did  not  want  to  be  assassinated,  he 
must  mind  what  he  did.  No  less  filled  with  fear  and 
cowardice  than  ever,  he  was  honey  in  person.  Assum- 
ing the  title  of  Ferdinand  I.  of  the  Two  Sicilies,  he 
did  not  disturb  the  functionaries  of  Murat  in  the 
fulfilment  of  their  functions;  everyone  remained  in 
his  place,  retaining  his  rank.  Ferdinand  talked  of 
nothing  now  but  his  love  of  his  people.  He  watched 
them,  however,  but  consented  to  do  whatever  was 
wanted  of  him  if  only  they  would  let  him  enjoy  life  in 
peace,  at  least  not  frighten  him  too  often.  The  Car- 
bonari gave  him  one  good  fright,  however,  in  1820 — 
not  a  long  one,  because  he  granted  them  everything 
they  wanted.  With  tears  in  his  eyes,  his  son  weeping 
with  him,  the  two  rivalling  each  other  in  terror,  they 
swore  to  support  the  Constitution  and  forbade  that 
they  should  be  obeyed  if  ever  they  retracted.  At  the 
same  time  Ferdinand  was  pouring  his  troubles  into 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  257 

the  ear  of  the  Austrian  Emperor,  imploring  him  to  get 
him  out  of  them.  Got  out  he  was.  Called  to  Laybach, 
where  it  was  intimated  that  he  should  abolish  the  Con- 
stitution,— a  bad  example  for  the  peoples  of  Europe, — 
it  is  said  his  nose  grew  still  larger  that  day  from  satis- 
faction and  sheer  delight  at  the  prospect  of  avenging 
himself  on  those  who  had  obliged  him  to  show  his 
cowardice.  He  showed  it  once  more,  however,  for 
although  he  wanted  to  go  back  to  Naples  himself 
instead  of  being  contented  to  send  his  orders  and  a 
representative, — such  as  Canosa  from  whom  Stendhal 
took  certain  traits  to  portray  his  immortal  Coimt 
Mosca  in  La  Chartreuse  de  Parme, — he  did  not  dare  to 
come  back  except  behind  the  Austrian  army.  It  was 
a  double  prudence;  his  personal  safety  and  an  air  of 
saying  to  his  people,  "You  see,  the  Austrians  have 
forced  my  hand."  It  would  have  been  touching  if  it 
had  not  been  heart-breaking.  The  new  program  was 
simple:  "To  leave  unpunished  no  error  committed 
since  the  beginning  of  the  reign  (1759) ;  to  draw  up  an 
exact  list  of  all  the  vengeances  to  be  paid  off  upon  the 
men  of  all  epochs  from  the  first  movement  in  1793 
up  to  1820;  to  punish  by  death,  prison,  or  exile  every 
adversary  of  absolutism;  to  do  away  with  judgments, 
as  a  means  of  avoiding  slow  processes;  to  punish 
promptly  and  under  no  other  rule  than  the  will  of  the 
King ;  to  efface  all  the  amnesties  that  had  been  sworn 


258  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

to  on  the  altar. ' '  The  militia  were  dismissed,  universi- 
ties and  schools  were  closed,  the  torture  bell  rang  every 
day,  and  books  were  put  upon  the  Index  and  burned. 
Even  the  catechism  was  replaced  by  another  which 
spoke  not  of  the  patria,  but  of  the  throne;  and  the  for- 
eign army  was  recompensed  by  honours  and  prebend- 
aries in  gratitude  for  its  occupation  which  gave  the 
King  courage  for — the  rascality  he  now  enjoyed  for 
the  rest  of  his  life. 

Medicis  came  back,  replacing  Canosa  who  was  con- 
sidered too  liberal.  That  was  all  the  change  that  took 
place.  Ferdinand  passed  his  time  in  the  gardens  of 
the  Villa  Floridiana.  Before  the  end  of  the  exile,  in 
1814,  Marie  Caroline  had  died  suddenly  in  the  course 
of  a  journey  in  Austria.  Fifty  days  later  Ferdinand 
married  Lucia  Migliaco,  daughter  of  Vincenzo  Duca  di 
Floridia  and  of  Dorotea  Borgia.  She  was  the  widow  of 
Benedetto  Grif  eo,  Principe  di  Partana.  She  was  born  at 
Syracuse  in  1770,  and  at  the  age  of  forty-five,  when  she 
became  Ferdinand's  wife,  she  had  five  children,  four 
sons  and  a  daughter.  Was  the  daughter  Ferdinand's ' 
child?  If  so,  it  would  show  that  Lucia,  who  fre- 
quented the  court  at  Palermo,  had  been  attached  to 
Ferdinand  since  the  days  of  exile  in  Sicily.  It  may 
have  been  so,  but  there  is  no  certainty  established. 
What  is  certain  is  that  Ferdinand  in  his  letters  to 
Lucia  never  speaks  of  her  sons,  although  he  always 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  259 

has  a  tender  word  for  the  little  Marianina.  But  why 
did  he  marry  Lucia? 

Up  to  this  time  his  habit  with  women  would  be 
enough  to  justify  all  our  dislike  for  him  if  we  knew 
nothing  else  against  him.  Whenever  he  obtained  the 
favours  of  a  lady  of  the  Court  he  ran  to  tell  his  good 
fortune  to  Marie  Caroline  who  promptly  ordered  Ac- 
ton to  see  that  she  was  exiled.  The  Duchess  of  Lus- 
ciano,  upon  being  sent  away,  succeeded  in  making  her 
way  into  the  King's  apartments  disguised  as  a  man 
and  gave  herself  the  satisfaction  of  spitting  upon  the 
huge  nose  which  only  sniffed  at  her.  The  Duchess 
of  Cassano  refused  Ferdinand's  attentions,  but  was 
obliged  to  leave  the  Court  like  the  poor  ladies  who 
accepted  them. 

One  day  when  the  future  King,  Francis,  mildly 
reproached  his  father  for  his  second  marriage,  Fer- 
dinand said  to  him,  "  Think  of  your  mother,  think  of 
your  mother!"  He  had  not  even  the  decency  to  re- 
spect Caroline's  motherhood.  The  bust  of  Lucia  at 
the  Villa  Lucia  and  the  miniature  of  her  in  the  Cuomo 
Museum  explain  her  success  with  the  King  by  the 
contrast  between  her  gentle,  always  smiling,  plump 
and  angelic  face  and  the  angular,  scolding,  imperious 
old  war-horse  that  was  Caroline.  Ferdinand  said  in 
1823,  "How  fortunate  I  am!  I  have  a  wife  who  al- 
lows me  to  do  anything  I  wish  to,  and  a  Minister  who 


260  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

does  not  allow  me  to  do  anything."  Such  was  his 
ideal  of  a  king.  He  had  brought  Lucia  with  him  when 
he  returned  to  Naples,  first  installed  her  in  the  Palazzo 
Partana,  which  we  still  see  in  the  Piazza  dei  Martiri, 
then  at  the  Palazzo  Reale  and,  at  length  at  the  Villa 
Floridiana  which  he  bought  from  the  Prince  de  Torella 
who  had  it  from  Murat's  Minister,  Saliceti.  It  is 
said  that  Saliceti  had  acquired  it  from  a  certain  Lulo 
whom  Caroline  had  settled  there.  Ferdinand  and 
Lucia  occupied  it  during  the  spring  and  summer,  and 
Lucia  remained  here  when  Ferdinand  went  to  Caserta 
or  Portici  for  his  hunting. 

We  have  traces  of  these  movings  in  letters  which 
throw  much  light  on  the  writers.  "Madame,  there 
is  a  strong  wind  blowing  and  I  have  killed  six  wolves." 
"  I  have  slept  like  a  little  pig."  "I  trust  that  the  cas- 
tor oil  has  had  good  effect  with  thee."  "Yesterday 
I  had  the  colic."  Lucia  also  entertained  him  with 
her  troubles.  Canosa  and  Medici  were  flogging  and 
strangling  folk;  the  Austrian  cannon  were  mounting 
guard;  but  Ferdinand  was  happy.  His  family,  too, 
was  kindly  attentive  toward  Lucia  who  kept  the  abject 
old  man  within  bounds.  Even  she  was  afraid  of  a 
dancing  girl  one  day,  but  the  good  housekeeper 
triumphed.  It  was  to  her  Francis  must  needs  turn 
when  he  wanted  something  of  his  royal  father  in 
Madrid;  and  even  the  saintly  Marie  Christine,  wife  of 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  261 

him  who  was  afterwards  Ferdinand  II.,  wrote  to  her 
affectionately. 

At  length,  on  the  4th  of  June,  1825,  Ferdinand 
died,  in  the  Pavillion  Lucia  of  the  Floridiana.  In 
his  will  he  recommended  his  heirs  to  permit  his 
"good  and  faithful  companion"  to  retain  her  apart- 
ments in  the  royal  palace,  ordered  the  continuance  of 
her  annual  pension  of  four  thousand,  five  hundred 
ducats  a  month  equal  to  some  £8,000  or  $40,000. 
Within  a  year  Lucia  followed  him,  at  the  age  of  fifty- 
four  years.  You  may  see  her  tomb  in  San  Ferdinando, 
the  little  church  opposite  the  Teatro  San  Carlo. 
Marianina  inherited  Floridiana.  She  married  the 
Count  Santangelo  whose  heirs  sold  it  to  the  present 
proprietor.  The  Villa  Lucia  reverted  to  Grifeo  who 
gradually  cut  it  up.  The  house  and  remains  of  the 
garden  were  sold  to  the  Polish  Count  Tyschievitch 
who  sold  them  to  an  Englishman,  Mr.  Young,  from 
whom  they  were  bought  by  the  late  Italian  Admiral 
Corsi. 

Ferdinand  carried  with  him  to  his  tomb  the  strong- 
est execrations  and  the  most  justified  contempt  ever 
poured  out  upon  king.  Stupid,  vicious,  currying 
favour,  he  gave  voluptuous  nourishment  to  every 
form  of  baseness.  How  could  such  an  abject  figure, 
such  a  contemptible  coward  masquerading  in  royalty 
escape  satire  ?     Did  Alfred  Jarry  think  of  him  when  he 


262  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

wrote  the  Uhu-roi?  I  think  not,  but  the  psychologist, 
as  often  happens,  divined  a  real  character,  for  Ubu 
is  Ferdinand,  crying,  "Forward !  Or  rather  no,  back- 
ward, gentlemen  of  Poland!"  The  Phynance  horse 
he  only  rode.     And  the  filth !     It  is  all  Ferdinand. 

Naples  made  by  the  Joans,  cultivated  by  the  Ara- 
gonese,  pampered  by  the  viceroys,  accepted  this  king 
as  the  farmer  accepts  bad  weather.  Dazzled  and 
stupefied,  merely  by  the  lightning  flash  of  the  Par- 
thenopaean  Republic,  the  Neapolitans  were  not 
aroused  by  Murat;  but  in  the  year  1848,  they  showed 
that  they  had  learned  something,  and  when  Garibaldi 
appeared  in  i860,  he  had  only  to  gather  the  harvest 
from  the  seed  sown  by  the  handsome  Joachim  upon 
the  ground  prepared  by  Ferdinand.  The  only  good 
thing  that  that  sinister  man  was  ever  able  to  do,  per- 
haps, was  to  make  possible  the  epic  of  the  Mille  of 
Garibaldi's  Thousand. 

Castellammare,  Ferdinand  II. 

On  the  eastern  side  of  the  bay,  far  from  Vesuvius 
and  under  the  lee  of  the  mountains,  Castellammare 
seems  to  be  perfectly  happy  in  her  naughtiness.  She 
has  left  the  tragic  Stabiae  to  sleep  under  the  harvest 
fields,  with  Pompeii,  keeping  herself  apart,  resting  in 
the  delight  of  the  freshest  of  shelters,  she  looks  toward 


Author 


Vomero 


Author 


The  Plain  of  Stabiae  and  Vesuvius  from  Castellammare 


Church  of  San  Francesco  di  Paolo,  Naples 


Alinari 


Oastellammare 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  263 

the  enchanting  peninsula  made  for  ever  celebrated  by 
Sorrento.  When  one  arrives  at  Castellammare  by  the 
railway  from  Naples  one  has  the  feeling  of  having 
reached  the  end  of  one's  journey;  that  there  can  never 
be  any  means  of  going  further.  The  most  unlikely 
railways  always  have  something  waiting  at  the  end 
to  carry  you  on.  Here>  no,  you  say :  it  will  never  be 
possible  to  pierce  that  rock.  But  the  Sorrento  tram- 
way has  succeeded  in  festooning  it  just  to  show  that 
nothing  can  resist  the  human  will.  Well  seated,  as  she  is, 
Castellammare  stretches  two  goodly  streets  along  the 
seashore,  rounds  about  a  pretty  little  port  and  stretches 
itself  out  in  view  of  the  setting  sun.  A  town  square  or 
Largo  and  some  gay  looking  places  of  refreshment  are 
almost  the  sole  decorations  of  this  charming  summer 
resort.  Behind  the  scene  are  the  usual  sordid, 
crowded  streets  where  live  the  fishermen  and  the 
women  who  find  employment  only  during  the  "  strang- 
er's season,"  the  strangers  being  Neapolitans  for  the 
most  part  in  summer  and,  in  much  smaller  numbers, 
foreigners  during  the  spring  and  autimin.  Several 
mechanical  industries,  however,  have  been  established 
here  in  recent  years,  the  poverty  of  the  people  being 
relieved  with  the  industrial  prosperity  of  Naples  which 
is  growing  day  by  day  and  finding  that  export  from  the 
harbour  of  Castellammare  is  convenient  and  inexpen- 
sive.    Half  fashionable  and  half  industrial,  this  little 


264  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

place  would  hardly  attract  the  traveller  with  but  a 
fortnight  for  the  entire  Bay  of  Naples,  if  it  were  not 
for  the  royal  villa  of  Quisisana  standing  above  it  and 
dominating  the  gulf  as  far  as  the  Cape  Circeo.  The 
Bourbons  were  not  the  discoverers  of  Quisisana  as 
Charles  II.  d'  Anjou  had  a  fortress  there,  but  they,  at 
least,  discovered  its  charm  as  a  residence,  Charles 
having  appreciated  only  its  military  value.  It  was 
Ferdinand-Ubu  who  made  a  villa  of  it,  assured  by  its 
inaccessibility;  at  Vomero  or  on  Monte  Coppola,  Fer- 
dinand was  always  doubtful  about  the  approaches  to 
his  residence. 

Indeed,  one  must  have  a  passionate  enthusiasm 
to  attempt  such  a  climb.  Italy  is  a  good  leg  de- 
veloper almost  everywhere,  but  Castellammare  and 
its  steeps  of  Quisisana  will  make  you  a  rival  of  the 
mountain  goat.  The  road  is  good,  shaded  with  Eng- 
lish oaks,  and  treacherous  in  a  thousand  windings 
which  deceive  you  at  the  end  as  they  should.  The 
villa,  formerly  royal,  now  municipal,  is  the  ideal  site 
for  a  hotel — with  a  lift — but  nothing  less  than  ah 
ideal  hotel — the  property,  for  instance,  of  that  society 
which  has  supplied  the  greatest  number  of  countries 
with  comforts,  so  that  guests  would  have  no  annoy- 
ance to  mar  their  enjoyment  of  the  sublime  scenery; 
the  vast  woods  where  Ferdinand  and  his  children 
fled  from  the  complaints  of  their  people  would  pro- 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  265 

vide  for  most  delightful  walks.  At  Quisisana  visitors 
should  pass  only  enchanted  hours,  not  of  sight-seeing, 
but  of  rest  and  recuperation.  How  such  days  would 
run  away  from  the  tourist  among  these  high  camellia 
bushes,  under  the  chestnut  trees,  beside  the  torrents, 
in  view  of  the  wide  sea,  Vesuvius,  and  all  the  places 
surcharged  with  the  souvenirs  of  the  centuries !  When 
those  possible  proprietors  take  possession,  no  one  who 
knows  the  place  will  refuse  to  subscribe  to  a  funicular 
railway  or  some  sort  of  lift  or  elevator  so  that  one  of 
the  most  perfect  resting-places  in  Nature's  gift  will  be 
offered  to  the  overworked  and  the  convalescent ;  even 
the  energetic  traveller  will  be  able  to  rest  his  bones  for 
a  night  and  properly  enjoy  the  thing  he  has  come  to 
see.  By  muscular  means  alone,  the  ascension  is  no- 
thing less  than  terrible,  but  an  intrepid  walker  finds  his 
reward  at  the  end  of  his  climb  in  this  immense  and  mag- 
nificent park  with  all  the  chaos  and  the  surprises  of 
mountains;  their  living  waters  singing  unending  songs 
of  their  beauty,  their  strength,  and  their  majesty;  and, 
from  the  terraces,  all  the  magic  spectacle  of  the  Bay  of 
Naples,  Caserta  Vecchia,  Camaldoli,  Pozzuoli,  Miseno, 
and  the  great  plain  where  Pompey  battered  down  the 
mutilated  walls  of  Capri,  Sorrento,  Posilipo,  Ischia, — 
the  gulf  of  love,  littora  qucB  fuerunt  castis  inimica  puel- 
lis,  equally  resplendent  in  all  of  its  many  aspects.  Seen 
from  one  side,  here,  as  if  in  recompense  for  the  pain 


266  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

one  has  endured  in  coming,  the  panorama  seems  more 
vast  than  from  any  other  point,  even  from  distant 
Capri.  At  Quisisana,  the  Bay  of  Naples  lies  at  your 
feet,  everything  in  its  place;  the  great  plain  where 
Stabiae  still  sleeps,  where  Pompeii  has  come  forth, 
where  Vesuvius  rises,  doing  us  an  incomparable  ser- 
vice for  the  calculation  of  distances,  where  we  see 
Naples,  pink  as  a  rose,  the  mountains  through  the 
screen  of  Caserta,  and  the  comma  of  Miseno  upon 
which,  in  the  mists  and  far  away,  the  promontory  of 
Circeo  sets  its  point. 

The  villa,  which  enjoys  these  pleasant  places  of  the 
earth  from  all  its  windows,  is  a  great  pink  house  with- 
out character,  not  unfittingly  so  in  a  site  with  which 
architecture  would  cope  in  vain.  Within,  there  is  no 
decoration,  only  rows  of  rooms  strung  upon  a  corridor 
— the  hotel  already  built  and  its  walls  covered  with 
coloured  papers.  .  .  .  Behind  it,  however,  in  the 
midst  of  the  park,  is  a  building  in  the  form  of  a  tower, 
pierced  by  narrow  windows.  Is  it  a  reservoir  or  decor- 
ative caprice?  Merely  a  garden  house,  I  am  told, 
where  Ferdinand  shut  up  his  grandchildren,  the  sons 
of  his  son  Francis,  when  they  were  naughty.  What 
a  sweet  prison,  but  sad,  too,  and  a  characteristic  of 
Ferdinand's  mania  for  seclusion.  I  think  of  the 
childhood  of  those  poor  little  beings  living  near  the 
most  cowardly,  the  most  contemptible  of  men,  under 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  267 

the  perpetual  terror  of  an  anger  which  was  only  the 
recoil  of  the  ill-humour  of  the  people,  over  whom  that 
grandfather  reigned  so  badly.  It  would  be  pleasant 
to  think  of  those  children  playing  at  La  Murata  and 
Caraccioli,  during  the  flight  toward  Sicily,  the  second 
Marie  Caroline,  our  Duchesse  de  Berry,  disguised  as 
Lady  Hamilton.  Ferdinand  IL  must  have  played  the 
part  of  grandfather,  whose  name  he  bore  with  such 
scrupulous  imitation  that  one  might  call  him,  Ubu 
IL  of  the  name. 

Ferdinand  II.  of  the  Two  Sicilies  was  even  an  ex- 
aggeration of  his  grandfather,  impossible  as  that  may 
seem.  Francis,  son  of  Ubu  I.  and  father  of  Ubu  IL 
reigned  but  five  years.  That  lustre  sufficed  him  to 
show  himself  worthy  of  his  father.  Insolence  and 
debauchery  presided  at  his  Court.  He  was  at  the 
mercy  of  his  barber,  Viglio,  who  sold  everything. 
Caropreso,  wishing  to  become  minister  of  finance,  ob- 
tained his  portfolio  only  by  paying  the  hairdresser 
something  like  four  thousand  pounds  or  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars.  As  for  the  Queen,  she  was  the  prey  of 
her  maids  of  honour  who,  also,  were  business  women. 
Certainly,  the  outward  aspect  of  things  was  altogether 
correct.  There  was  a  Constitution,  tribunals,  com- 
munal and  provincial  councils — a  thorough  outfit. 
But  care  was  taken  how  it  was  made  use  of.  In  fact, 
when  the  laws  were  inconvenient,  orders  to  stay  pro- 


268  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

ceedings  were  sent  to  the  chamber  of  deliberations,  or 
orders  to  annul  the  laws.  If  a  faithful  loyalist  was 
subject  to  the  functions  of  legal  operations,  the  Crown 
intervened.  The  police  kept  in  prison  those  who,  by 
chance,  were  acquitted  and  taught  them  with  the  whip, 
to  do  what  was  wanted  of  them.  The  nobility  pillaged 
the  commune  and  razed  forests,  standing  in  with  the 
agents  of  the  State.  All  titles  and  all  functions  were 
for  the  highest  bidder.  Government  took  no  course 
for  the  development  of  the  realm ;  there  was  no  culture, 
only  imposts,  assassinations,  and  the  most  profound 
servitude.  As  in  the  whole  of  Europe,  here  arose  one 
cry  from  the  conscience  of  the  people,  since  that  of  the 
kings  was  silent. 

Ferdinand  II.  received  his  heritage,  thus  taken  care 
of,  in  1830.  For  a  moment,  a  few  people  had  the  sim- 
plicity to  place  their  trust  in  him.  He  was  a  good 
speaker  with  an  easy  manner  and  his  hand  held  out  to 
the  lazzaroni,  but  he  did  not  keep  his  kingdom  waiting 
long  to  learn  what  he  was  going  to  do.  Married  to  a 
saint,  Maria  Cristina  of  Savoy,  he  beat  her.  His  ten- 
year-old  son  was  named  treasurer  of  the  discounting 
bank  with  something  near  eighty  pounds  or  four  hund- 
red dollars  in  appointments  per  month.  A  monsignor 
of  the  Church,  Cocla,  replaced  the  paternal  barber, 
a  prudish  prelate  for  whom  the  antique  statues  were 
draped  and  green  swaddling  bands  were  put  upon  the 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  269 

dancers.  Women  of  the  street  were  expelled,  but  they 
could  buy  permission  to  remain.  As  to  the  said 
Ignace,  he  was  made  marshal,  and  his  appointments 
were  drawn  by  the  Jesuit  Fathers.  Finances  were 
arranged  on  the  simple  rule  that  all  surplus  was  the 
property  of  the  King.  Therefore  surplus  steadily 
increased.  Never  was  such  an  economical  regime. 
Brigandage — brigands  paying  their  taxes — was  under 
special  protection.  Poerio  goes  on  to  say:  "Reac- 
tion, having  become  government,  was  organized  into  a 
party,  dismounted  all  the  social  machinery,  took  pos- 
session of  all  employments,  reduced  the  nation  to 
helotism,  brutalized  the  people  by  maintaining  them 
in  ignorance  and  fomenting  superstition,  frightening 
them  by  tortures,  impoverishing  them  and  exhausting 
them  with  extortion.  This  government,  based  solely 
upon  brute  force,  applied  with  a  perversity  which 
nothing  moved  to  compassion,  the  atrocious  principle 
that  superstition  and  misery  are  the  strongest  colimins 
that  can  support  a  throne,  and  it  founded  its  strength 
upon  the  oppression  of  all."  Another  detail :  Naples 
had  the  glory  of  building  the  first  railway  in  Italy; 
it  was  constructed  to  carry  the  King  from  his  capital 
to  Portici.  Others  followed,  but  it  was  forbidden  to 
build  them  with  tunnels,  because  they  were  immoral. 
Trains  were  not  allowed  to  go  on  Sundays.  When 
they  left  Naples  on  Saturdays,  they  halted  on  the  way 


270  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

for  travellers  and  employees  to  attend  mass,  vespers, 
and  the  benediction,  each  station  being  provided  with 
a  chapel. 

Naples,  during  this  time,  is  described  as  prostrate 
under  ridicule  and  infamy ;  but,  as  Lamennais  so  ad- 
mirably characterized  its  condition,  it  slept  in  "the 
peace  of  the  cradle,  not  of  the  tomb."  Indeed,  in 
1848,  Naples  set  the  example  for  all  Italy :  she  was  the 
first  to  rise.  Ferdinand  II.  then  showed  himself  the 
real  Ubu  II.,  giving  the  people  all  they  wanted  when 
they  had  raised  their  barricades  before  his  palace,  yet 
placing  himself  at  a  window  to  encourage  his  troops 
to  fire  on  the  crowd.  Shrewdly  keeping  himself  in- 
formed upon  affairs  to  the  north  of  him,  as  they  grew 
more  complicated  in  other  States  of  Italy,  Ferdinand 
heard  the  cannon  at  Novara.  Ah,  a  Constitution! 
Have  the  Neapolitans  ever  talked  of  that?  They 
had  better  not!  Away  with  newspapers!  No  more 
schools !  The  liberal  deputies  to  the  Parliament  were 
imprisoned  and  exiled,  arrested  on  their  way  to  take 
their  seats,  and  if  the  House  held  any  deliberations, 
all  their  resolutions  were  allowed  to  lie  without  the 
royal  sanction,  as  was  even  the  Budget.  A  catechism 
was  published  which  left  that  of  1837  far  behind,  and 
that  contained  this  question:  "Are  all  those  who 
wear  mustaches  and  beards  liberal  philosophers?" 
Then  there  were  doubts  on  the  subject;  now,  no,  and 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  271 

in  the  new  catechism  was  said,  "  The  King  is  not  bound 
to  respect  his  oath  to  the  Constitution,  if  that  is  con- 
trary to  the  general  interest  of  the  State.  Who  is  the 
judge  of  that  interest?  The  King."  The  people 
found  that  out.  Gladstone,  stopping  at  Naples  in  his 
travels,  saw  it.  Two  letters,  forever  famous  in  history 
show  the  world  the  remorse  of  one  nation,  and  that 
England,  which  had  sustained  Ubu  I.  and  still  re- 
membered Nelson,  the  savage  executor  of  Caraccioli. 
"What  we  find  here,"  said  Gladstone,  "is  not  simple 
imperfection,  nor  even  occasional  corruption  or  sever- 
ity, but  incessant,  systematic  and  deliberate  violation 
of  the  law."  He  estimated  the  number  of  political 
prisoners  at  fifteen  thousand  and  concluded:  the 
Bourbon  regime  here  is  "  the  negation  of  God  erected 
into  a  system  of  Government." 

Like  the  negation  of  God,  also,  was  Ferdinand 
XL's  peaceful  death  in  his  own  bed.  That  was  late 
enough  for  him  to  hear  the  declaration  of  the  war  of 
Piedmont  against  Austria,  the  war  which  was  to  finish 
with  the  unity  of  Italy,  but  too  soon,  alas,  for  him  to 
see  the  realization  of  a  free  nation  from  the  Alps  to 
Sicily.  What  a  fine  show  he  would  have  made  at  that 
moment,  as  magnificent  as  his  grandfather  in  1799  and 
in  i8o6{  The  grandson,  perhaps,  finds  his  excuse,  his 
defence,  or,  at  least,  his  explanation  in  his  ancestry; 
he  was  but  a  replica  of  Ferdinand  I.,  with  a  little 


272  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

more  brutality,  but,  it  may  be,  also,  some  additional 
shade  of  conscience  in  his  actions.  What  Ubu  I.  did 
by  instinct,  Ubu-Bomba  did  deliberately,  and  he  did 
nothing  the  less  on  that  account.  His  great  political 
principle  declared :  "  The  world  asks  to  be  duped,  the 
King  should  be  the  first  to  give  it  what  it  wants."  He 
but  kept  to  the  axiom  of  his  ancestors;  he  had  seen  his 
grandfather  live  and  reign  upon  it;  Ferdinand  II.  did 
not  invent  the  rule  of  his  life,  he  but  applied  it,  as  his 
inheritance  with  his  kingdom,  and  applied  it  with 
dexterity. 

His  son,  Francis  II.,  had  been  carefully  kept  out 
of  affairs.  He  was  considered  honest,  but  weak  and 
inexperienced.  Honest  he  was,  perhaps,  but  decidedly 
he  did  not  remain  so.  At  Naples  he  had  not  time  to 
develop  his  character,  but  in  Rome,  where  he  found 
refuge  under  the  wing  of  the  Pope  who,  for  the  young 
Neapolitan's  sake,  compromised  himself  in  the  eyes  of 
the  entire  world.  It  was  from  Rome  that  Ferdinand 
coolly  asked  Victor  Emmanuel  to  divide  between  them 
the  States  of  the  Church,  and,  then,  upon  the  refusal 
of  the  King  of  Italy,  he  turned  to  Garibaldi  who  had 
just  driven  him  out  of  the  Two  Sicilies.  He  offered 
Garibaldi  fifty  thousand  men  to  fight  the  Austrians 
or  the  Pontifical  Army,  as  the  great  leader  of  Italian 
independence  might  choose. 

The  I  ith  of  May,  i860.  Garibaldi  and  his  thousands 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  273 

had  landed  at  Trapani  on  the  north-western  coast  of 
Sicily.  August  20th,  three  months  later,  he  crossed  the 
Straits  of  Messina  on  the  eastern  side,  Sicily  having 
been  conquered.  Landing  at  Melito,  on  the  very  toe 
of  the  Italian  boot,  he  moved  northward.  The  7th  of 
November  Victor  Emmanuel  made  his  triumphal  entry 
into  Naples,  where  Garibaldi  had  been  waiting  for 
him  for  two  months.  In  four  months,  three  of  which 
were  passed  in  Sicily,  Garibaldi  had  conquered  the 
Kingdom  of  Italy,  and  it  had  been  child's  play  to  do  so. 
The  armies  sent  out  against  him  threw  down  their 
arms  at  his  feet.  He  had  but  to  appear.  The  peas- 
ants believed  him  the  brother  of  Christ.  Francis,  flee- 
ing from  Naples,  took  refuge  at  Gaeta  with  so  strong 
an  army  that  Garibaldi  had  to  follow  him  under  pro- 
tection of  the  walls  of  Capua.  Francis  had  some 
forty  thousand  men.  Garibaldi  had  twenty  thousand. 
That  leader  of  a  band  of  volunteers,  the  independent 
hero  so  many  times  disdained  by  military  men,  won 
the  victory  of  a  veritable  tactician.  He  was  wise 
enough  to  send  but  a  part  of  his  men  out  to  fight,  in 
spite  of  eagerness  and  panics,  until  evening ;  and  when 
evening  fell  he  launched  his  fresh  troops,  his  own  guard 
into  the  fray.  The  battle  of  the  Volturno  is  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  pages  in  military  history. 

After  that  victory,  which  annihilated  Francis'  last 

hope.  Garibaldi  might  have  dictated  his  conditions 
18 


274  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

and  said:  "I  will  give  Naples  to  the  new  kingdom  the 
day  that  Victor  Emmanuel  is  crowned  King  of  Italy 
at  the  Capital.  But  he  did  not.  Made  a  fool  of  so 
many  times  as  he  had  been  by  Cavour,  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  played  with  once  more,  and,  after  a 
plebiscite,  he  went  to  meet  the  King  who  entered 
Naples  by  his  side.  Victor  Emmanuel  never  forgave 
him  for  having  been  acclaimed  more  than  his  King. 
The  first  request  Garibaldi  made  after  abandoning 
his  dictatorship  to  the  King's  profit — recompense  for 
his  men, — met  with  a  hard  refusal,  and  Garibaldi, 
fresh  from  the  conquest  of  the  half  of  Italy,  left  for 
his  rock  of  Caprera  with  fifty  lire  (some  two  pounds, 
or  ten  dollars)  and  some  seeds  of  green  beans  in  his 
pockets. 

Would  he  have  succeeded  with  less  difficulties  than 
the  monarchy  of  Savoy  encountered  in  overcoming  the 
evils,  the  corruption,  and  the  poverty  which  desolated 
Southern  Italy  ?  That  is  doubtful.  The  sore  was  old 
and  deep.  It  is  not  closed  yet,  although  one  may  al- 
most say  that  it  is  only  the  poverty  which  remains 
today.  Since  the  Angevins,  the  realm  had  been  sys- 
tematically despoiled  at  the  pleasure  of  its  rulers,  and 
can  it  be  less  than  a  question  of  centuries  to  raise  it 
to  prosperity?  The  Bourbons  of  Naples,  no  doubt, 
carried  the  weight  of  the  faults  of  their  ancestors  as 
well  as  their  own.     But  kings  who  impose  themselves 


THE  TWO  UBUS,  KINGS  OF  NAPLES  275 

on  a  country  in  the  name  of  their  ancestors  can- 
not complain  of  the  grievous  part  of  their  heritage. 
Besides,  if  Ferdinand  I.  was  a  bad  ruler,  had  not  his 
descendants  still  a  good  example  in  his  father,  Charles 
III.  ?  Why  did  not  his  children  follow  the  road  traced 
out  by  the  first  Bourbon  instead  of  overturning  his, 
the  most  enlightened,  government  of  Europe  with  the 
most  abject — even  out-doing  the  Turks — that  history 
has  ever  registered?  Since  that,  with  comparatively 
short  and  rare  exceptions,  was  in  fact  but  a  variation  of 
the  six  or  eight  centuries  of  her  entire  history,  it  is  not 
strange  that  Naples  yet  bears  traces  of  her  abnegation. 


TentH  Dagr 

THE  LOVERS'  COAST 

Salerno  and  Amalfi. 

ETWEEN  Salerno  and  Sorrento  lies 
one  of  the  most  famous  landscapes 
of  Italy,  dreamed  of  as  is  Venice  by 
lovers  and  lovers  of  beauty.  I  have 
just  been  over  the  first  half  of  it,  from 
Salerno  to  Amalfi.  Who  would  ever  believe  that  the 
name  of  Salerno  is  attached  to  hygiene  ?  This  tortu- 
ous and  dirty  city  was  the  birthplace  of  the  celebrated 
School  of  Salerno,  whose  sanitary  principles  should 
it  not  have  been  the  first  to  profit  by?  The  school 
departed,  and  the  town  has  never  shown  the  amour- 
propre  of  an  author.     Whatever  the  reason,  Salerno 

276 


THE  LOVERS'  COAST  277 

is  not  attractive.  When  I  arrived  there  the  rain  was 
falling  in  torrents,  and  even  the  waters  from  heaven 
seemed  to  be  sloppy.  I  had  to  call  upon  my  courage 
to  climb  to  the  cathedral,  which  must  be  known  by 
everyone  who  wishes  to  thoroughly  understand  the 
art  of  the  Normans.  It  is  said  to  have  been  built  but 
a  year  before  Robert  Guiscard  took  Bari  and  to  have 
been  remodelled  in  1204  by  the  children  of  Guiscard's 
nephew,  Tancred  d'  Hauteville,  the  Crusader.  At  any 
rate  we  can  see  in  it  all  the  ingenuity  employed  by 
the  Normans  to  conciliate  their  ideal  with  the  Byzan- 
tine conceptions  which  they  had  been  encountering 
for  fifty  years  at  every  step  of  their  conquest.  At 
Salerno  they  were  in  Lombardian  domain,  which  facili- 
tated the  assimilation,  the  Lombards  also  cultivating 
the  Roman  art  which  they  reclaimed  from  the  Latin 
and  the  Greek.  Guiscard  and  Roger  and  their  suc- 
cessor were  quite  at  home  in  this  amalgamation. 
They  adopted  the  atriimi  of  the  basilica  which  they 
ornamented  with  colimins  from  Paesttmi ;  they  threw  up 
Roman  arches  above  the  naves,  and  borrowed  decora- 
tions from  Byzantiimi.  Sicily  was  soon  to  undertake 
the  charge  of  bringing  all  this  under  the  Oriental  in- 
spiration. It  was  Sicily  who  sent  here  the  admirable 
pulpit  to  which  so  many  churches  of  the  Campania 
came  for  a  model,  as  the  churches  of  the  Apulia  imi- 
tated the  church  of  San  Nicola  of  Bari.     Some  people 


278  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

claim,  however,  that  these  pulpits  came  from  Rome, 
from  the  Cosmati.  In  fact,  it  is  impossible  to  see 
them  without  thinking  of  Cosmedin.  Perhaps,  then, 
it  would  be  well  to  look  for  a  common  origin  in  the 
two  work  rooms,  of  the  Cosmati  and  of  the  Normans  of 
Sicily,  for  it  is  not  probable  that  the  Cosmati  came 
down  here.  We  must  turn  toward  the  East.  The 
Cosmati  were  inspired  from  Byzantium  by  way  of  the 
monastery  of  Monte  Cassino,  the  Normans  through 
the  Apulia  and  Sicily.  What  a  fertile  controversy  this 
might  raise !  But,  at  least  we  have  the  certainty  of 
the  incomparable  beauty  of  these  decorative  mosaics, 
these  palms,  these  volutes,  these  plaques,  these  bands 
of  multicoloured  stones,  incrusted  like  enamel.  The 
Cosmati  were  timid  beside  the  Normans.  I  give  them 
all  the  credit  of  inventors  in  Rome,  even  by  reason  of 
their  very  timidity.  If  they  had  known  the  Sicilian 
or  the  pure  Byzantine  art,  they  would  have  been 
bolder.  Raise  the  Roman  ambones  to  their  tenth 
power  and  you  will  have  the  pulpit  of  Salerno,  com- 
parable to  that  of  the  Palatine  at  Palermo,  even  richer, 
perhaps,  certainly  freer.  In  the  Campania,  the  Arab  in- 
fluence is  less  dominating.  I  believe  that  one  will  never 
find  in  the  Arab  art  figures  so  full  of  simple  energy 
as  those  of  the  angel  and  the  eagle,  on  either  side  of 
the  arch,  as  those  at  the  angles  and  on  the  capitals. 
These  are  the  hallmarks  of  Northern  art.     Among  the 


THE  LOVERS'  COAST  279 

tints  of  these  mosaics — "velvety  as  Persian  carpets," 
M.  fimile  Bertaux  describes  them, — these  figures  have 
a  virility  and  noble  rudeness  that  the  Oriental  never 
knew  and  which  it  was  reserved  to  our  unserene  west- 
ern skies  to  evoke.  And  what  an  interesting  inven- 
tion is  this  connecting  of  the  pulpit  to  the  ambon  by 
a  bridge,  another  "Persian  carpet."  The  two  pieces 
thus  form  a  veritable  monument  of  art,  one  thing,  but 
varied,  brilliant,  and  sober  at  the  same  time.  In  the 
church,  abominably  sacked  by  the  Baroque,  this  Ori- 
ental pulpit  and  basilican  atriimi  give  us  the  essential 
of  the  architectural  dreams  of  Guiscard  and  his  child- 
ren,— almost  barbarians  and  arriving  late  in  a  land 
saturated  with  beauty,  but  who  knew  so  wonderfully 
how  to  adapt  their  instincts  to  their  surroundings. 

At  Vietri  begins  the  radiant  cliff-road  of  which  the 
magnificent  cornice  roads  of  Genoa  or  of  Provence 
can  give  no  idea.  This  is  charming  the  entire  length; 
the  others,  more  restricted,  but  with  pleasing  lines, 
stretch  along  portions  of  coast  between  promontories 
from  which  man  has  long  since  driven  out  all  beauty 
by  his  pretentions  and  his  advertisements.  Nowhere, 
there,  is  seen,  as  here,  a  continuity  of  strength  and 
majesty.  The  road  hems  the  coast,  its  foM  separating 
the  blue  silk  of  the  sea  from  the  festoon  of  the  rocks. 
One's  first  impression  is  his  total  change  of  point  of 
view;  the  scenery  has  become  wholly  marine.     The 


28o  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

land  is  no  longer  the  essential ;  the  waves  have  taken  its 
place.  They  have  suddenly  become  sure  and  familiar- 
The  feeling  of  the  unknown,  that  delicious  fear  which 
comes  from  the  thought  of  things  with  which  we  are 
unacquainted,  is  imparted  to  us,  really,  more  by  the 
rock  than  by  the  sea.  A  formidable  wall,  impossible 
to  pierce;  the  only  friendly  side  to  look  upon  is  that  of 
the  open  where  vessels  are  riding  the  waves.  One  is 
a  prisoner,  separated  from  the  world  by  these  colossal 
rocks,  these  gigantic  masses.  Looking  at  them  one 
feels  seized  by  a  sort  of  fright.  What  is  behind  them? 
Land?  Useless  to  think  of  it.  Access  to  it  is  impos- 
sible. Only  the  sea  smiles  at  you,  calls  you,  invites 
you  to  be  quick  in  getting  away.  You  cry,  "piu  presto'' 
to  your  driver,  you  want  him  to  urge  his  little  horse 
to  go  faster,  and  every  turning  brings  you  along  more 
walls  of  the  solid  rock.  Your  eye  searches  them  from 
top  to  bottom,  as  far  as  you  can  see  them,  but  you 
find  no  opening.  Sometimes  the  rampart  seems  to  be 
cleft ;  it  is  but  a  fissure  of  which  the  road  takes  advant- 
age if  it  can,  only  to  be  obliged  to  return  to  the  original 
wall.  We  come  to  a  torrent  stopped  by  a  fall  that  we 
might  climb  if  we  were  not  so  eager  to  reach  the  end 
of  this  marvellous  drive,  yet  there,  on  our  left,  the  deep 
blue  of  the  waters  is  infinite — inaccessible,  also.  Two 
days  we  drive,  two  days  we  go  on  and  on  the  length  of 
this  wall  without  being  able  to  cross  it.     In  compari- 


THE  LOVERS'  COAST  281 


son,  the  sea  is  so  beautiful,  so  attractive,  we  forget 
that  it  has  any  mystery.  Over  there  is  Sicily;  that 
way  is  France;  there  is  Naples,  too,  land,  liberty  which 
one  would  buy  at  the  cost  of  any  peril.  But  the  end  of 
this  rock  is  not  yet.  An  impulse  seizes  me  to  climb  it, 
to  jump  from  point  to  point  until  the  endlessness  of 
the  pinnacles  discourages  me.  One  can  go  to  great 
heights,  at  times,  even  to  some  four  thousand  feet  from 
which  a  fine  line  drops  to  the  sands  washed  by  the 
sea.  The  rock  hangs  suspended,  masses  up  to  the 
blue  sky,  threatening  one  with  a  crash  at  every  step. 

After  seeing  this  forbidding  mass  so  long,  however, 
and  knowing  that  it  is  to  be  constant  company  for  so 
many  hours  to  come,  one  resigns  himself  and  even 
begins  to  look  at  it  with  curiosity.  Chaos  is  a  terrify- 
ing thing,  but  it  is  also  magnificent.  From  the  sea, 
the  chaos  of  this  rock  must  be  the  unseen  detail  of 
imposing  masses;  nearby,  it  is  frightful,  but  of  a 
frightfulness  that  is  disarmed  by  close  acquaintance. 
Immovable,  cut  by  the  hand  of  man,  opening  to  pour 
out  its  waters  and  to  shelter  villages  here  and  there, 
known  and  understood,  it  loses  its  rudeness  and  vio- 
lence. Details  make  us  forget  the  mass.  One  comes 
to  love  the  rock  for  itself,  for  its  tranquil  majesty,  its 
loins  of  Titan  upon  which  grow  the  herbs  liked  by 
goats  and  sheep.  In  fact  from  Vetri  to  Amalfi,  it  is 
covered  with  verdure,  with  gardens,  with  orchards 


282  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

of  lemon  trees  which,  like  ourselves,  turn  constantly 
toward  the  sea,  ungrateful  children  of  a  morose  rock 
that  is  so  kind  at  heart.  Engrossed  as  I  have  been 
with  awe,  inspired  by  grandeur,  I  have  not  seen  the 
lemon  trees  on  the  narrow  stages  of  their  continuous 
terraces;  yet  how  could  I  have  been  blind  to  the  golden 
fruit,  expanding,  contracting  into  small  compass  upon 
all  the  declivities  of  the  capes  and  in  the  miniature 
valleys  dug  out  by  the  torrents?  The  wall  of  this 
garden-clad  rock  is  still  more  abrupt  in  its  winding 
passages,  but  there  it  is  sheltered  and  I  am  reminded 
of  what  Frederick  II.  is  said  to  have  cried  when  he 
landed  in  Palestine:  "If  the  God  of  the  Jews  had 
known  the  Campania  he  would  not  have  made  such 
a  fuss  over  his  Promised  Land!"  I,  who  have  never 
seen  the  Promised  Land,  take  pleasure  in  thinking  of  it 
as  a  country  lying  under  some  such  rich  green  mantle 
as  this,  studded  with  gold,  rewarding  the  closest  in- 
spection with  its  exquisite  detail.  Perhaps  it  would 
have  pleased  that  pagan  Frederick  better  to  hear  it 
said  that  this  paradise  is  draped  and  kept  like  a 
throne  where  Phoebus  might  recline  in  idle  pleasures. 
This  vast  garden  stretches  in  its  beauty  from  promon- 
tory to  promontory,  from  valley  to  valley,  always  re- 
freshed by  the  torrent  singing  the  song  of  life  in  its 
running  waters.  It  is  a  garden  faithfully  cared  for  by 
many  hands,  by  men  and  women,  also  children,  who 


The  Ambo  in  the  Cathedral,  Ravello 


Alinari 

View  from  Hotel  Palumbo,  Ravello,  Showing  Maiori  and  Minori 


Alinari 


The  Cathedral,  Amalfi 


Alinari 


View  of  Amalfi  from  the  Grotto  of  San  Cristoforo 


THE  LOVERS'  COAST  283 

seek  in  it  not  only  shade  from  the  brilliant  southern 
sun,  but  their  life,  their  daily  bread.  What  a  pleasant 
vision  of  repose  in  abundance !  Man  has  Nature,  even 
old  Sol  in  hand.  Between  this  ever-heated  rock  and 
the  rays  of  the  sun,  the  fruit  would  soon  be  burnt  but 
for  the  screens  interposed  by  man,  and  behind  which 
it  ripens  slowly,  filling  gradually  with  beneficent  juice. 
I  seem  to  be  passing  trellises  that  will  never  end, 
stretching  mile  after  mile  along  the  winding  coast 
defying  the  hot  rock,  welcoming  the  cool  sea  breeze. 
From  a  distance  and  obliquely,  I  see  the  growing  lem- 
ons. Nearby,  I  cannot  find  them;  they  are  all  hidden 
behind  their  green  roofs,  under  which  it  must  be  sweet 
to  walk,  at  twenty,  with  fingers  interlaced.  Now  and 
then  a  few  bold  lemons  show  themselves,  yellow  ro- 
settes upon  the  green  cloak  that  covers  the  shoulders 
of  the  precipitous  mountains. 

The  hours  passed  in  walking  along  this  uninterrupted 
garden  between  the  solid  rock  and  the  open  sea,  leave 
the  memory  dizzy.  Sensations  precipitate  themselves, 
swelling  sheer,  sharp  like  the  mountain,  serene  like 
the  sea,  voluptuous  like  the  vineyards.  One  would 
like  to  be  possessed  by  reveries  of  all  of  these  three 
sensations  at  one  time.  But  let  us  leave  to  Nature's 
self  her  want  of  precision  and  seek  the  only  refuge 
possible  from  her  disorder  of  confused  immensity, 
from  her  wildness,  from  her  beneficence  in  which  we 


284  -i   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

lose  consciousness  of  ourselves;  that  refuge  is  in  the 
industry  of  man.  The  golden  nails  of  the  lemons  will 
serve  to  hold  us  to  our  theme,  and  the  villages,  hang- 
ing from  the  seductive  vastness  like  fruitful  trees,  will 
keep  us  from  losing  ourselves.  Sometimes  the  houses 
appear  to  be  in  a  gorge,  gripping  the  calamitous  rock 
along  the  torrent  which  keeps  them  from  parching. 
Their  red  roofs,  their  green  windows,  and  their  white 
walls  wave  the  flag  of  the  Italian  Union  against  the 
background  of  the  mountains.  They  are  miserable 
villages,  but  seem  so  full  of  joy,  so  frank  and  open  to  all 
that  is  good  in  the  sunlight  which  is  indeed  the  most 
festive  sight  of  all  on  this  jagged  shore.  Only  a  few 
days  ago  I  was  enjoying  the  blue  sky  above  the  Adri- 
atic coast,  the  villages  standing  out  against  the  sea, 
and  April  roses  scattering  their  petals  along  the  walls 
bathed  by  the  waves.  The  play  of  the  sun  upon  the 
flat  beaches  of  the  Apulia  has  a  fineness  of  tint  and 
shade  that  one  does  not  see  here ;  but  the  lights  of  the 
Adriatic  lack  the  vigour  of  the  Tyrrhenian  Sea.  Often 
over  there  along  the  borders  of  the  Venetian  lagoons, 
as  over  the  low  plains  of  the  Tavoliere,  of  Bari,  and  even 
of  the  Ionian  Sea,  tender  mists  soften  the  glare  of  day. 
Here  the  rock  will  keep  nothing  of  the  rays  thrown  at 
it  by  the  sun,  but  sends  them  all  back  multiplied  ten- 
fold from  the  braziers  amassed  during  unnumbered 
centuries.     The  air  is  wonderfully  dry;  nothing  inter- 


THE  LOVERS'  COAST  285 

poses  itself  between  the  sun  and  earth.  The  light 
has  an  implacable  cruelty;  in  it  not  a  stone,  not  a  leaf 
can  cheat.  You  can  count  the  seams  in  the  mountain, 
the  rushes  on  the  shore.  Each  tile  on  the  roofs  is  dis- 
tinguishable from  the  others.  As  far  as  you  can  look, 
you  see  the  hamlets  forming  masses  from  which  every 
piece  may  be  picked  out.  Nothing  but  takes  on  an  un- 
usual value  here;  I  feel  that  I  might  count  the  drops  of 
the  cascade  that  is  falling  above  my  head.  Everything 
seems  larger,  more  important  than  it  is  in  mere  fact. 
Yet  how  can  I  reduce  its  grandeur  to  such  a  compari- 
son? Besides  the  gentle  lure  of  the  great  lake  of  the 
Mediterranean,  besides  the  resistance  of  the  walled 
mountain,  besides  the  pleasant  gardens,  with  the  golden 
fruit ,  another  charm  makes  itself  felt  here,  differing  from 
that  of  the  mountains  in  its  brutality.  They  are  dis- 
sembling, they  move  our  emotions,  stir  the  curiosity; 
we  would  always  like  to  open  them  and  join  the  people 
from  whom  they  so  sternly  separate  us.  The  glare  of 
the  light  is  crude  to  us,  too;  but,  instead  of  repulsing 
us,  it  attracts  us.  Shining  upon  all  alike,  penetrating 
into  the  most  secret  corner,  into  the  blackest  holes, 
this  light  which  can  be  so  beneficent  has  also  cruel 
powers.  It  spares  nothing.  It  makes  everything  flare 
out,  enlarge,  become  colossal.  Plants,  the  sands  of  the 
shore,  rock,  and  men,  all  sparkle,  stand  out  distinctly, 
even  spring  forward.    One  is  eaten  up  by  the  light,  we 


286  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

all  remember  certain  summer  nights  when  the  moon 
has  been  violently  bright.  The  daylight  here  reminds 
me  of  such  rare  moonlight  raised  to  the  hundredth 
power,  spreading  its  whiteness  everywhere,  scarcely 
permitting  a  shadow;  one  feels  that  he  is  floating  in 
light.  It  seems  to  be  even  under  one's  feet,  to  carry 
one  along;  one  is  immersed  in  a  blinding  glory  which 
bathes  all  surroundings  as  well,  in  which  every  atom 
is  dancing  in  the  universe  to  the  rhythm  of  the  ardent 
bow  of  the  sun. 

Along  the  gorge  of  a  torrent  deeper  than  usual, 
which  discovers  the  mass  of  the  mountains  behind  the 
coast  wall, — a  world  held  border  prisoner, — runs  the 
road  to  Ravello.  Far  as  it  takes  me  out  of  my  way,  I 
must  go  up  it  until  I  see  that  other  world  which  this 
world  I  have  been  travelling  elbows  for  so  many  miles 
without  ever  embracing.  I  have  a  great  desire  to  hold 
in  my  hand,  as  it  were,  these  diversities  so  closely 
stratified  and  never  amalgamated.  Ravello  stands 
some  twelve  hundred  feet  high,  right  away  above  the 
sea  like  a  burg  above  the  Rhine.  Draped  in  oaks  and 
chestnuts,  it  shelters  itself  in  a  rock  of  which,  seen  from 
below,  it  appears  to  occupy  the  summit,  a  fascinating 
point  to  be  approached  but  slowly,  by  circuits  follow- 
ing the  course  of  the  torrent  with  its  rubbish  and  its 
mills.  The  spectacle  is  wild  and  full  of  strength ;  all 
the  gorges  are  that ;  and  my  eyes  still  full  of  light  have 


THE  LOVERS'  COAST  287 

some  difficulty  in  seeing  the  fresh  verdure.  But  I 
know  that  it  lines  the  way  to  Ravello,  once  a  great  city, 
now  nothing  more  than  a  belvedere. 

To  this  day  the  glory  of  Ravello  remains  attached 
to  the  "farmer  generals"  of  the  Angevins,  the  Rufolo 
family.  To  them  the  cathedral  owes  its  pulpit,  by 
no  means  a  rival  of  that  of  Salerno,  of  which  indeed, 
it  is  but  a  modest  copy,  yet  exceedingly  interesting, 
especially  for  its  lions  with  the  column  handles,  the 
Lombard  lions,  which  Niccola  Pisano  afterwards 
adopted  for  his  pulpit  at  Pisa.  They  attest  here  the 
vitality  of  the  descendants  of  Desiderius. '  On  this 
pulpit  are  two  medallions  of  Rufolo  and  his  wife  and  a 
bust  placed  above  them,  some  of  the  rarest  and  most 
expressive  work  of  the  century  when  art  dropped  back 
into  its  infancy  and  fell  asleep  until  the  hour  it  was 
awakened  by  Niccola  Pisano.  Interesting  as  this 
pulpit  is,  I  prefer  the  ambon  whose  design,  although 
simpler,  seems  to  me  the  work  of  a  firmer  hand,  of  a 
surer  taste,  and  whose  decoration  is  the  most  exquisite 
of  all,  first  the  peacocks  and  then  the  whales,  each  of 
the  latter  swallowing  a  Jonah. 

For  there  are  two  of  them  and  the  whale  on  the  left 
catches  his  Jonah  by  the  legs.     His  mouth,  too  wide 

»  Didier,  Duke  of  Tuscany,  who  became  King  of  the  Lombards 
and  was  besieged  at  Pavia  by  Charlemagne,  his  father-in-law, 
and  dethroned.    See  Little  Cities  of  Italy,  vol.  11.,  chap.  ii. 


288  A   FORTXIGHT  I\  NAPLES 

open,  his  haggard  eyes  show  that  the  man. — with 
incredibly  real  Jewish  head, — will  not  go  down.  The 
monster  on  the  right  has  seized  Jonah  by  the  shoulders 
and  with  mouth  but  moderately  open,  eyes  shining 
with  voluptuous  satisfaction  and  forefins  raised  frisk- 
ily, he  shows  with  what  ease  the  man  is  slipping  down 
with  feet  together  as  if  he  might  be  interested  in  his 
journey.  The  adventure  portrayed  is  only  comic,  but 
the  odour  is  marvellous.  Upon  the  white  of  the 
marble,  between  garlands  of  mosaics  in  gold  and  black 
and  red  enamels,  the  tender  sea  green  of  the  whales, 
with  rocks  all  around  them,  and  sand,  too,  gives  an 
ineffable  sensation  of  delicate  colouring.  Even  if 
Jonah  had  not  been  told  that  he  was  to  come  back,  the 
beautiful  coat  of  his  swallower  must  have  reassured 
him.  And  the  whale  on  the  right  is  so  full  of  joy,  I  am 
sure,  because  he  knows  that  he  is  going  to  puke  up 
Jonah  without  doing  him  any  harm. 

Rtifolo,  too,  stuck  in  the  gorge  of  his  master.  The 
King  dropped  him  from  favour  and  confiscated  his 
villa.  Like  Vaux-le-Vicomte,  this  house  was  too 
beautiful  for  its  Fouquet.  Kings  are  dangerous  either 
as  debtors  or  creditors.  When  they  owe  too  much  or 
when  their  stock  is  not  sufficiently  "watered,"  they 
are  tempted  to  suppress  the  creditor  who  carries  his 
account  with  him.  If  the  banker  has  the  imprudence 
to  love  display,  excuse  will  avail  him  little.     Rufolo 


Aiinart 


Cloister  of  the  One-time  Cappuchin  Monastery,  Amalfi 


Author 


La  Comiche  from  Salerno  to  Amalfi 


Alinari 


Amalfi 


J^P 

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Alinari 


Salerno  from  the  Harbour 


THE  LOVERS'  COAST  289 

had  none.  The  place  of  Ravello  was  and  still  is  a 
wonder  of  taste  in  which  it  requires  little  perspicacity 
to  find  the  Sicilian  influence.  In  a  low  and  closely 
cropped  garden,  stands  a  high  square  Norman  tower, 
above  purely  Italian  buildings  with  a  patio — if  it  were 
a  convent,  we  should  say  a  cloister, — that  is  purely 
Arab.  Except  La  Zisa,  one  no  longer  finds  around  Pa- 
lermo the  old  Arab  houses,  which  the  Norman  kings 
used  to  build  so  lavishly.  But  I  think  we  can  form  a 
fair  idea  of  them  here ;  with  this  patio  surrounded  by 
two  storeys  of  loggias,  the  lower  one  with  small  double 
colvunns  surmounted  by  three  pointed  arcades;  the 
upper  one  also  with  double  slender  columns,  but  fin- 
ishing in  palms  climbing  like  branches  of  grape-vine, 
interlacing  their  garlands  along  the  white  wall  en- 
crusted with  black  stone  and  garnished  with  knots  of 
stucco.  This  fine  marble  lace-work,  these  light  and 
playful  stuccoes  around  the  garden  with  its  depths  of 
shade,  have  the  grace  and  voluptuousness  of  the  Orient. 
Rufolo  was  not  a  wise  man  because  he  wished  to  enjoy 
his  riches,  but  he  was  a  man  of  taste,  an  artist,  more 
than  could  be  said  of  his  masters,  the  morose  Angevins 
to  whom  adventure  was  always  incomprehensible  and 
by  whom  there  was  no  more  of  that  rapid  and  easy 
assimilation  of  the  Normans. 

From  the  Rufolo  gardens  I  see  the  coast,  but  that  is 
really  dominated  by  the  Villa  Cembrone.     At  the  end 


290  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

of  a  flowering  path,  shut  in  between  two  low  walls 
decorated  with  high  pedestals  and  with  supple  plants 
that  form  a  trellis  there  is  a  terrace  rounded  like  the 
platform  of  a  lighthouse.  The  Bay  of  Salerno  is 
sheer  below  us.  The  walls  have  crumbled,  but,  no 
doubt,  there  are  others  behind  them.  From  this 
point  of  view  these  serrated  verdure-covered  moun- 
tains, now  so  familiar  in  their  bold  design,  form  a  chain 
altogether  pleasant,  with  none  of  the  old  terrors.  The 
warm,  forbidding  rock  is  no  longer  distinguishable, 
only  the  green  of  the  plants  spread  out  upon  trell- 
ises. The  coast,  now  become  serene  to  our  view, 
stretches  on  from  promontory  to  promontory  towards 
Salerno,  on  towards  Calabria.  At  the  foot  of  Monte 
Albumo,  the  sharp  frontons  of  Paestum  point  heaven- 
ward from  its  plain.  From  time  to  time  bays  and 
inlets  push  into  the  mountain,  which,  from  its  capes, 
curves  back  the  waves.  The  well  interwoven  garland 
dotted  with  golden  fruit,  winds  its  way  capriciously 
towards  the  infinite,  the  sea  caressing  and  continually 
refreshing  its  beautiful  border.  The  villages  are  but 
pink  spots,  rosettes  marking  the  links  of  the  garland. 
Under  the  midday  sun,  the  sea  sparkles  like  the  sheen 
on  smooth  sky-blue  satin.  Not  a  wave  swells,  the 
silence  is  perfect.  Upon  the  sands  of  the  bays  there  is 
scarcely  a  fringe  of  foam.  I  am  standing  before  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  spectacles  of  our  world.     Has 


THE  LOVERS'  COAST  291 

Nature  taxed  her  resources  to  bring  together  here  the 
choicest  of  her  marvels  ?  The  heavy  anger  of  the  earth 
lifts  its  charge  of  rock.  The  sweet  restlessness  of  the 
sea  is  never-ceasing  movement.  Bountiful  harvests 
are  ripening.  The  ardent  sun  spreads  fertility  with  his 
kisses.  Everything  that  might  be  dull  or  serious  else- 
where here  is  possessed  of  some  charming  caprice  and 
elbows  its  fellow  to  find  room  to  flourish  in  the  elastic 
air.  The  points  of  the  mountains  on  which  eagles 
perch  spring  toward  heaven  where  no  one  disputes 
their  space,  the  capes  push  back  the  docile  waves, 
which  move  caressingly  up  to  the  unresisting  sands. 
The  gardens  put  forth  lavishly  and  their  yellow  fruit 
forces  its  way  through  the  leaves  that  would  screen  it 
from  a  fatal  excess  of  the  sunshine  that,  properly 
tempered,  gives  it  all  its  luxurious  life.  What  marvel- 
lous disorder  blended  by  Nature,  under  the  beneficent 
heat  of  the  day  star,  into  divine  harmony !  Ah,  how 
much  truth  there  is  in  the  myth  of  Phoebus  identified 
with  Apollo!  The  horses  of  the  sun,  Eton,  Phlegon, 
Eous,  and  Pyroeis  with  fire  darting  from  their  nos- 
trils and  striking  the  chords  of  the  lyre  with  their  hoofs ! 
There  are  no  violent  contrasts,  no  struggles  in  it. 
Apollo,  with  his  music,  charms  all  nature  impartially; 
he  makes  it  fertile  and  nourishes  it.  When  Nature 
sighs  from  lassitude  under  his  kisses,  her  sighs  rise  to 
lose  themselves  among  the  curls  of  Hyperion  from 


292  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

which  they  fall  back  vibrating.  Harmony!  Its 
source  is  here  in  the  kiss  eternally  placed  upon  the 
thousand  lips  of  the  earth  by  the  sun  Musagetes. 
At  the  foot  of  Ravello,  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
waves,  the  white  town  of  Amalfi  lies  along  the  shore  of 
her  bay  and  rises  in  terraces  up  the  wall  of  the  moun- 
tain. Cramped,  hard  pressed,  calamitous,  but  bold, 
even  provocative,  Amalfi  hurls  her  little  streets  about 
in  assaults  and  precipitates  them  into  the  sea.  It  is 
confusion  of  palaces  and  hovels,  planted  happy-go-luck- 
ily  on  the  short  esplanades  wherever  they  could  balance 
themselves  on  points  of  the  rock  sufficiently  large  to 
be  levelled  oif  for  a  foundation  or  utilized  as  a  wall. 
This  squat  village  with  muscles  tense  holds  her  shining 
body  to  the  exhausted  rock,  clutching  it  in  constant 
fright.  In  former  days,  she  reigned  over  the  sea; 
there  only  could  she  extend  herself.  In  fact  the  earth 
threw  her  down  to  it,  and  more  recently  in  a  somer- 
sault gave  her  a  push  which  precipitated  some  of  the 
houses  upon  the  beach.  Will  the  earth  ruin  the  little 
town  one  day  for  having  loved  the  sea  too  well  ?  What 
other  end  would  be  worthy  of  her?  Tranquilly  she 
awaits  the  hour  without  repulsion  and  without  desire. 
She  lives  her  little  decayed  life,  her  port  useless  beside 
Naples  and  Salerno,  unable  to  have  such  streets  as 
towns  must  have  today,  inaccessible,  she  sees  the  boats 
pass  on  to  the  ports  whose  waters  can  carry  them,  as 


THE  LOVERS'  COAST 


293 


hers  cannot,  no  longer  looking  for  the  Genoese,  the 
Pisan,  the  Saracen  barks  she  once  used  to  repulse  after 
she  had  pillaged  them.  Now  nothing  happens,  no 
passer-by  ever  stops.  Amalfi  looks  at  herself  all  the 
day  long  in  the  waves,  her  old  head  carrying  the  head- 
dress of  the  mined  walls  that  crown  her  cathedral,  a 
many  coloured  aigrette,  shining  and  diapered. 

Nothing  shows  so  well  what  the  Normans  acquired 
in  conquering  Sicily  as  the  cathedral  of  Amalfi.  Let 
us  call  to  mind  the  timid  monuments  of  the  Apulia, 
and  those  of  Salerno  and  Ravello — somewhat  more 
daring,  but  still  restrained, — if  we  wish  to  appreciate 
how  fearless  Amalfi  was.  She  even  went  too  far  in  her 
anxiety  to  show  how  free  she  was.  On  the  soil  of 
Sicily  the  Normans  disciplined  their  strength;  at 
Cefalu,  at  Monreale  and  at  Palermo  they  set  their 
finished  formulae  which  are  restrained.  Here  they 
gave  themselves  rein  and  leaped  too  high.  The  fagade 
of  this  church  is  decorated  almost  like  a  coffer;  it  is 
frail  with  lace-work.  At  the  head  of  sixty  steps,  the 
loggia  shines  with  intercrossed  marbles,  crescents, 
lozenges,  spindle  columns,  pointed  ogees,  open-work 
frontons,  and  with  the  terraces  of  its  arcades,  the  last 
of  which  supports  a  mosaic  that  the  light  devours. 
On  the  left,  is  the  campanile,  topped  by  a  little  cupola 
dominating  four  half-cupolas  on  the  angles.  These 
cupolas  are  made  by  intersecting  arches  like  the  apses 


294  ^    FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

at  Monreale  and  Celafu,  and  they  are  ornamented 
by  varnished  brick.  Let  us  count.  Gothic,  Roman, 
Byzantine,  and  Arab,  all  the  expressions  of  art  are 
here,  even  to  the  columns  from  Paestum  so  that  Greece 
should  be  present  too.  The  disorder  is  complete,  yet 
it  is  a  charming  living  outburst  of  grace,  happy  to  be 
proving  that  it,  also,  can  be  beautiful.  Everything 
sets  into  something  else,  nothing  is  itself  alone,  yet 
nothing  overpowers  its  neighbour.  As  in  Nature, 
everything  rests  in  its  own  place  without  confusion. 
Certainly  at  the  moment  when  the  Normans  were 
building  this  cathedral  they  had  but  recently  finished 
more  carefully  thought-out  works  in  Sicily,  but  they 
never  made  anything  that  speaks  more  clearly  than  this 
of  a  people  overjoyed  by  conquest.  Amalfi,  so  funda- 
mentally Greek  in  spite  of  her  destiny,  gave  to  the  Nor- 
mans the  mastery  over  the  Tyrrhenian  Sea  that  Ban 
gave  them  over  the  Adriatic ;  she  did  not  give  them  the 
hearts  of  the  conquered.  These  the  Norman  tried  to 
win  by  filling  them  with  wonder,  showing  them  that  he 
had  not  destroyed,  but  added  to  the  pre-eminence  of 
glorious  Amalfi,  since  she  should  remain  the  richest  and 
the  most  joyous  city  of  the  coast.  So,  it  would  be 
vain  for  me  to  seek  any  remains  of  the  Lombard  art 
here.  No  doubt  they  might  be  traced  through  Nor- 
man-Roman influences,  but  the  conqueror  wisely 
avoided  any  flagrant  souvenirs.     The  cloister  is  Arab- 


THE  LOVERS'  COAST  295 

Byzantine.  Within  the  cathedral  is  a  Latin  basilica 
which  the  Baroque,  once  more,  has  disfigured.  Pass- 
ing conquerors  of  Amalfi,  the  Lombards  were  disowned 
by  the  Greeks  and  despised  by  the  Normans.  They 
held  their  prestige  in  art  here,  however,  more  than  in 
any  other  place.  It  is  to  them  that  my  memory  re- 
verts this  evening  under  the  cloister  of  the  convent 
transformed  into  an  hotel  where  I  am  seated,  looking 
at  the  sea  which  has  gone  out  like  an  extinguishedlight, 
watching  the  fires  of  the  setting  sun  die  (iown  along  the 
coast  and  flare  up  rose  colour  on  the  rocky  summits 
far  above,  while  the  sails  of  the  fishing  boats  drop  and 
fold,  with  the  wings  of  the  gulls,  for  a  night  of  comfort- 
ing sleep. 


^*'""'"™"^^'^^Mi 


£leventK  Day 

THE  HAPPT  ISLE 

Sorrento  and  Capri 

E  must  go  on  to  Sorrento,  looking  along 
the  coast  for  three  hours  more  for  the 
fissure  by  which  we  shall  pass  from  the 
South  to  the  North,  from  the  Bay  of 
Salerno  to  the  Bay  of  Naples.  The 
sea  will  open  out  to  us, — and  if  it  doesn't,  we  shall 
jump  into  it!  Enough  of  prison,  charming  as  it  is! 
It  was  not  without  reason  that  the  legends  interpreted 
or  expounded  by  Homer,  peopled  all  the  grottoes  of 
this  coast  with  sirens,  even  giving  them  islands  of  their 
own,  those  today  called  Li  Galli.  But  when  the 
companions  of  Ulysses  and  all  those  other  lost  men, 
landed  on  these  shores,  were  they  really  held  by  magic 
charms  ?     It  is  much  more  likely  that  they  could  not 

296 


THE  HAPPY  ISLE  297 

leave  this  generous  bay  because  their  boats  had  cap- 
sized and  the  scaling  of  the  mountain  presenting  even 
more  difficulties  to  them  than  to  us.  Those  who 
succeeded  in  rounding  Cape  Minerva  encountered  the 
subtile  Parthenope  between  two  waters  and  crossing 
her  domain,  the  harmonious  bay,  they  founded  the 
radiant  Neapolis.  The  beautiful  sirens  were  the  en- 
chantments of  nature  which  induce  us  to  forget  the 
past  for  the  pleasure  of  living  among  the  eternal  roses 
whose  garlands  are  prolonged  by  Paestum  as  far  as  this. 
You  see  that  I  have  resumed  the  serpentine  road  and 
am  crossing  the  torrents,  piercing  the  rock  by  tunnel 
and  gradually  climbing  toward  the  summits,  while  the 
villages  sink  below  me.  There  are  moments  when  the 
road  is  but  a  balcony.  Sometimes  it  sets  out  over 
the  sea  like  the  handle  of  a  pot,  if  one  could  liken  this 
vast  rock  to  so  small  a  thing.  Then  we  go  on  for  long 
distances  upon  the  rock  cut  and  bored  in  holes  longitu- 
dinally :  one  could  never  escape  here,  and,  while  wait- 
ing for  the  wings  that  are  promised  us,  we  must  use 
our  legs  if  we  wish  to  attain  the  summits.  Even  now  we 
seem  to  soar.  Upon  the  coast  which  vanished  behind 
us,  upon  the  sea,  through  the  last  veil  of  the  rising 
morning  mist  the  sun  throws  us  a  reassuring  glance. 
From  our  height  we  see  nothing  but  the  sharply 
pointed  majestic  angles  of  the  capes,  broken  by  the 
valleys  of  torrents;  a  succession  of  vast  fish-bones,  of 


298  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

wrinkled  dorsal  fins  as  of  crouching  creatures,  a  school 
of  them  resting.  Or  are  they  the  fossil  remains  of  the 
cows  of  Geryones  that  Hercules  abandoned  when  he 
passed  this  way  after  having  founded  Herculanaeum 
going  to  Sicily.  On  we  go.  The  capes  that  in  the 
forms  of  animals  were  so  formidable  yesterday,  today 
are  all  modest,  low-spreading,  plunging  into  the  sea, 
and  the  road  behind  us  which  seemed  such  a  dizzy 
height,  looked  back  upon  appears  a  mere  dyke  above 
the  beach.  The  mass  of  Amalfi  reduced  to  the  hollow 
of  a  hand  is  a  shining  little  white  patch,  as  if  it  had 
a  fresh  coat  of  white-wash  every  morning.  It  will 
soon  disappear.  Other  villages  efface  themselves  be- 
hind new  promontories  or  lose  themselves  in  the  tor- 
rents, Praiano,  Positano;  and  then  I  perceive  a  new 
character  in  this  fleeting  landscape. 

Owing  to  my  high  position,  it  is  not  the  general  lines 
that  are  changing;  the  difference  is  in  the  character, 
the  peculiar,  I  might  say  personal  aspect  of  the  things 
themselves  at  the  moment  that  one  comes  near  to 
them.  From  Salerno  to  Amalfi  this  coast  is  but  a 
garden;  from  Amalfi  to  Cape  Minerva  it  is  only  rock, 
so  bare  and  sterile  that  men  have  given  up  all  effort 
to  fertilize  it  leaving  Nature  to  her  solitary  triumph. 
After  we  have  passed  Positano  the  rock  has  not  even 
a  smile  for  us.  Grim  and  nude,  as  it  stands,  we  may 
count  the  bones,  seamed  and  gashed  as  they  are,  with 


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Grotto  of  Matromania,  with  Natural  Arch,  Capri 


Alinari 


Alinari 


Villa  of  Tiberius,  Capri 


THE  HAPPY  ISLE  299 

but  the  tatter  of  a  thousand  coats  of  limestone  strewn 
over  them.  This  rock  reminds  me  of  a  fleshless  skele- 
ton from  which  all  forms  of  life  draw  away.  It  is  no 
longer  anything  but  a  mass  of  sunbaked  cyclopean 
stones  from  which  the  Galli  have  detached  themselves 
to  seek  the  moisture  of  the  sea.  We  must  scale  the 
last  declivities  and  reach  the  high  plateau  dominat- 
ing the  two  bays  before  we  shall  see  green  again,  and 
then  it  will  be  the  verdure  of  the  oaks  which  love  the 
wind.  For  the  present,  we  have  only  the  cliffs,  pre- 
cipitating toward  the  sea  or  fleeing  from  it,  rocks 
climbing  one  over  another  to  save  themselves  as  fast 
as  possible  unless  they  are  going  to  rejoin  the  little 
Galli.  Yet  are  not  they  festooning  the  generous  bay 
of  Salerno?  How  full  it  is  of  such  widely  differing 
surprises,  yet  retaining  its  own  character  with  them 
all.  Here,  once  again,  I  remember  that  beauty  is  in 
the  fundamental  line,  not  in  detail,  still  less  in  trim- 
ming. How  clearly  that  lesson  is  taught  me  today! 
These  bare  capes  are  constructed  exactly  like  their 
well-covered  brothers,  they  cut  the  same  design  into 
the  yielding  sea.  Over  there  men  have  been  able  to 
collect  divers  results  of  their  ingenuity,  but  they  have 
in  no  wise  suppressed  the  construction  of  the  landscape. 
That  is  the  important  part  of  it  all,  the  construction, 
the  character.  Why  is  Naples  so  beautiful  if  not  by 
reason  of  the  very  architecture  of  her  mountains  and 


300  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

her  coast?  Line,  line!  The  Greeks  understood  the 
importance  of  line,  and  their  temples  are  sublime  for 
all  time  because  that  was  their  one  care.  The  coast 
of  Positano  has  kept  itself  intact  in  the  same  spirit. 
Rugged  as  it  is,  it  is  quite  as  glorious  as  that  of  Amalfi 
whose  nobility  industrious  men  have  not  been  able 
to  diminish. 

Decidedly  we  are  mounting  these  rocks  to  jump  into 
the  sea  when  we  reach  the  end  of  them.  In  a  zigzag, 
the  road,  which  has  become  edged  with  evergreen  oaks, 
suddenly  gives  up  winding  on  forever  and  bolts  over 
the  mountain,  no  longer  utilized  by  man.  The  crest 
is  soon  passed.  The  horses,  who  for  the  past  two  days 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  how  to  trot,  now  carry  us 
along  merrily  toward  the  inner  and  greater  bay  which 
might  justly  pride  itself  on  being  without  second  if 
Vesuvius  were  not  towering  there  to  remind  it  that 
things,  like  men,  are  but  dust.  Yet  Castellammare 
makes  us  forget  Stabiae.  High  above  the  sea,  Capodi- 
monte  reminds  us  that  one  day  every  desire  of  our 
love  for  Naples  may  be  gratified  there.  And,  here, 
on  the  left  Capri  comes  out  of  the  blue  waters,  blue 
herself,  into  the  blue  of  the  sky.  At  our  feet  lies 
Sorrento  with  the  flowery  name  of  our  dreams,  symbol 
of  all  that  makes  life  precious ;  light  air,  the  perfume  of 
flowers,  the  shade  of  groves,  the  freshness  of  the  sea- 
shore, the  lulling  of  the  waves,  the  odour  of  fruit — and 


THE  HAPPY  ISLE  301 

love  or  its  memories.     Of  a  lazy  and  voluptuous  life, 
Vesuvius  is  the  benefactor. 

How  can  one  describe  the  mildness  of  the  air  of  Sor- 
rento? With  mountains  to  the  east,  to  the  west,  and 
to  the  south,  the  town  lies  sheltered  upon  a  large 
plateau,  a  veritable  platform,  upon  a  cliflf  sheer  above 
the  sea,  a  platform  which  is  a  great  park  where  grow 
every  sort  of  tree  and  all  kinds  of  flowers.  On  the 
Bay  of  Salerno  the  gardens  are  terraced;  here  they 
spread  out  wide  and  level,  or  somewhat  so,  thickly 
grown,  stubby,  laden  with  fruit,  smothered  with  roses, 
lilacs,  and  hanging  wistaria.  Above  are  the  moun- 
tains with  swaying  palms  and  nodding  oranges. 
Everywhere  abound  pomegranates,  mulberry  trees, 
tamarinds,  myrtles,  iris,  gladioli,  lilies,  almond-trees, 
fig-trees,  peach-trees,  all  that  Nature  produces  that 
is  brilliant,  tender,  and  delicious.  And  over  there, 
at  the  end  of  this  abundant  plain,  this  rich  green  and 
highly  coloured  carpet  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  is 
the  little  town  and  its  port,  a  port  for  little  boats,  for 
fear,  no  doubt,  that  it  lose  its  charm  if  brought  in  con- 
tact with  big  steamers,  a  town  with  no  other  character 
than  that  of  a  seaside  resort.  Everything  here  is  for 
repose  and  ease  in  living.  Do  not  think,  however, 
that  you  will  discover  all  of  that  in  a  few  cursive  walks. 
Sorrento  offers  nothing  to  the  hurrying  tourist.  For 
him  she  has  only  walls  above  which  come  perfumes  to 


302  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

make  him  lose  his  senses  and  refreshing  shade  to 
tempt  him  from  his  program  of  haste.  If  one  wishes 
to  enjoy  Sorrento  one  must  know  it  for  a  day  and  a 
night  at  least  as  a  guest  in  one  of  the  villas  of  which  the 
passing  tourist  sees  but  the  rough  exterior  walls.  The 
entire  shore,  the  entire  cliff,  in  fact,  is  occupied  by 
hotels  and  by  the  villas  of  Neapolitans.  If  you 
do  not  sleep  here  and  awaken  here  of  a  morning,  you 
do  not  know  Sorrento's  charm;  and  who,  once  know- 
ing that,  would  not  wish  to  give  himself  up  to  it 
forever? 

Upon  the  terrace  of  the  hotel  where  I  am  stopping 
I  have  passed  the  whole  of  the  day  among  the  flower- 
beds that  transported  me  into  my  happiest  mood  while 
the  sea  seemed  to  sing  especially  to  me.  When  I 
raised  my  eyes  in  front  of  me,  Naples  was  spreading 
out  her  incomparable  bay,  pointed  in  the  centre  by 
Pizzofalcone  whose  ridge  is  cut  by  the  Castel  dell'  Ovo. 
To  the  left,  Posilipo  and  Miseno  hide  Baia.  On  the 
right  is  Vesuvius.  Round  about  are  the  islands; 
Nisida,  Procida,  Ischia,  and  here,  beside  me,  Capri. 
Looking  off  again,  there  away  on  the  receding  coast  to 
the  north  are  Cumas,  Casta,  the  mouths  of  the  River 
Liris.  .    .    . 

I  watch  Naples  appear  and  disappear  at  the  caprice 
of  the  mist,  and  change  from  rose  white  to  tender  vio- 
let; Posilipo  and  Miseno  dance  in  the  golden  dust; 


THE  HAPPY  ISLE  303 

Ischia  and  Capri  are  nothing  but  black  masses,  great 
vessels  that  have  cast  anchor.  All  the  flowers  of 
Sorrento  redouble  their  perfume  while  the  wind  stirs 
the  palms.  The  air  is  soft  enough  to  make  one  faint, 
and,  from  my  terrace,  I  hear  the  sea  at  my  feet 
babbling  confidences.  The  song  of  some  Masaniello 
loses  itself  in  the  night,  vibrating  against  the  rocks. 
Among  all  these  enchanted  places,  Sorrento  is  the  most 
favoured  since  every  day  and  every  night  she  enjoys 
the  magnificence  in  which,  coquette  that  she  is,  she 
participates;  not  only  is  she  the  most  beautiful  "bit" 
of  the  masterpiece,  but  that  which  has  been  worked 
up,  perhaps,  with  the  greatest  tenderness,  as  she  is  the 
most  voluptuous  and  the  most  deliciously  perfumed. 

Early  in  the  morning  here  am  I  again  on  the  terrace, 
never  tiring  of  the  classic  scene  across  which  I  now 
watch  the  white  boat  that  has  left  Naples  and  must 
take  me  from  Sorrento  to  Capri.  Slowly  it  glides  over 
the  sea,  directly  toward  us,  sails  wing  and  wing.  Here 
it  is  and  we  have  all  embarked  for  the  famous  isle 
where,  today,  Tiberius  must  cede  to  Krupp  in  interest, 
although,  on  the  other  hand  Krupp  yields  nothing  to 
Tiberius.  The  boat  waddles  along  like  a  silly  beauty 
out  for  a  promenade.  I  know  that  she  is  going  to 
Capri,  but  she  is  mistaken  if  she  thinks  we  are  going 
on  her  account,  for  is  not  the  fame  of  Capri's  pretty 


304  A   FORTXIGHT  IX  XAPLES 

women  widespread  and  of  long  standing?  On  ap- 
proaching it,  Capri  appears  like  a  great  bell  under 
which  a  thousand  divers  are  at  work.  Doing  what? 
I  should  like  to  know  that  the}-  were  discovering,  at 
length,  the  m^'ster}-  of  the  blue  waters  of  Capri  whose 
reflections,  remaining  never  to  be  forgotten  in  the  eye 
of  memon-,  glisten  there  as  if  completing  the  charm  of 
the  blessed  isle,  like  a  girdle,  the  verv  cestus  of  Venus, 
encircling  it.  For  the  last  eight\-  odd  years, — in  fact, 
ever  since  it  has  been  discovered, — tourists  have  been 
justly  wonderstruck  with  the  Blue  Grotto,  toward 
which  the  boat  is  now  canying  us.  More  wonderful 
than  that,  however,  appears  to  me,  under  the  blazing 
sun,  the  blue  transparency  of  the  waters  about  Capri. 
The  sea  is  often  of  this  colour,  especially  along  the 
Mediterranean  coasts;  that  is  to  say,  seen  from  these 
shores,  spreading  out  to  the  horizon.  At  your  feet,  it 
is  a  deep  emerald,  usually;  but  here  it  is  blue  to  the 
depths.  Lean  well  over  the  boat's  railing,  looking  at 
sea  and  sky;  you  will  think  that  you  are  no  longer 
sailing,  but  flying  through  thin  blue  air.  The  heavens, 
reversed,  are  carrying  us  along;  we  are  stemming  the 
clouds,  not  foam.  Ah,  no,  for  I  can  see  the  rusty 
colotired  rocks,  covered  with  seaweed  at  the  bottom 
of  these  clear  waters,  and  sometimes  the  sand  which 
shows  me  just  how  they  hold  their  celestial  tints. 
How,   indeed?     By   what    chemical    magic?     Never 


Alinari 


The  Blue  Grotto,  Capri 


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Alinari 


Marina  Grande,   Capri 


Alinari 


Palace  of  Donn'  Anna,  Naples 


THE  HAPPY  ISLE  305 

mind  that  at  the  moment  of  such  pure  enjoyment  of 
ineffable  colour;  blue,  frankly,  unquestionably,  but  all 
"watered"  with  clear  silver  reflections  that  move 
through  it  to  infinity.  The  regular  flow  of  the  waves 
broken  into  contrary  motion  by  the  boat  do  not  spoil 
the  tender,  transparent,  purified,  flicking  blue  of  this 
water.  Can  it  be  the  water  of  the  sea,  usually  so 
heavy,  so  majestic,  so  massive?  In  becoming  clear,  it 
has  lost  all  its  heaviness  and  is  light  as  the  water  of  a 
brook,  trembling  at  nothing  and  springing  into  the  air 
for  the  mere  joy  of  movement.  The  weather  is  calm, 
yet  the  waves  breathe  deeply,  ready  to  rise  under  the 
slightest  gust  of  wind,  such  as  would  scarcely  wrinkle 
a  mountain  lake,  to  frisk  before  the  breeze,  turn  into 
vapour  and  fly  away  in  scattered  mist.  As  we  coast 
the  island  to  reach  the  Grotto,  the  flapping  and  clap- 
ping of  the  water  increases  with  wonderful  gaiety, 
laughing  and  springing  up  about  us  until  we  feel  that 
we  are  making  our  way  through  a  vast  bed  of  peri- 
winkles. 

We  slow  up.  Several  little  boats  swarm  about  the 
foot  of  our  ladder,  cockle-shells,  dancing  like  so  many 
madcaps  possessed  by  the  mirth  of  the  blue  waves 
that  carry  them,  they  seem  to  have  come  to  invite  us 
to  join  them  in  an  erratic,  waddling  sort  of  tarantella. 
With  a  jimip,  we  have  left  the  steamer  to  dance  joy- 
ously toward  the  Grotto,  too  entirely  amused  over  our 


306  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

new  steps  to  think  of  the  qualms  of  Neptune's  tribute 
which  such  bobbing  about  would  arouse  anywhere 
else  but  in  tripping  it  lightly  over  the  blue  silver  of 
these  sea  depths.  The  man  at  the  oars  is  pulling  with 
all  his  might  straight  for  the  abrupt  rock.  Have  we  a 
hard  paper  prow  to  our  cockle-shell  that  will  cleave  the 
pasteboard  rock  as  we  dash  into  it?  Another  stroke 
of  the  oars,  and  an  opening  appears,  an  arch  upon  the 
surface  of  the  water,  filled  and  hidden  by  each  rising 
wave  of  the  moving  sea.  How  shall  we  ever  go  in  by 
that?  Between  two  waves?  The  attempt  may  be 
the  death  of  us.  But  no,  this  is  all  too  blue  to  be  bad. 
Red  is  tragic,  and  I  foresee  that  all  our  tragedy  will  be- 
fall the  lady  of  the  red  cheeks  who  has  hastily  slipped 
from  her  seat  to  the  bottom  of  the  boat  so  that  her 
head  may  not  hit  the  arch.  No,  no,  blue  is  not  tragic, 
it  is  comic,  and  laughingly  we  squat  down  to  a  sitz  bath. 
The  boatman  seizes  a  rope ;  a  wave  raises  us,  and  before 
the  next  one  comes  we  are  in  the  Blue  Grotto. 

Who  has  not  seen  a  picture  of  it?  A  large  cavern 
where  small  men,  bathed  in  blue,  are  moving  blue  arms, 
walking  upon  blue  shores,  disdaining  their  blue  boats 
and  the  Palinurus,  not  less  blue,  who  rests  upon  his 
blue  oars.  A  trifle  more  and  it  would  be  insupportable, 
but  nature  always  knows  where  to  stop,  how  to  re- 
strain the  charming  from  plunging  headlong  into  the 
insipid.    In  fact,  the  Grotto  is  not  large,  but  just  small 


THE  HAPPY  ISLE  307 

enough  to  be  interesting ;  it  is  low  and  sombre  with  its 
vaulting  slightly  tinted  by  reflected  colour.  On  the 
left,  a  little  platform  permits  not  more  than  ten  per- 
sons at  one  time  to  land,  and  a  dozen  of  our  cockle-shell 
rowboats  quite  fill  the  cavity.  Besides,  it  is  unique, 
but  merely  the  phenomena  of  the  waters  of  Capri 
repeated  in  this  dark  hole  with  an  intensity  and  fresh- 
ness hardly  to  be  imagined  by  the  most  ardent  admirer 
of  their  azure  of  open  day.  How  can  one  paint  or 
describe  the  colour  of  the  waters  in  this  sombre  cave? 
If  the  swelling  waves  that  wash  the  shores  of  Capri 
are  blue,  what  word  will  suggest  the  aspect  of  this 
tranquil  pond?  Blue,  too,  but  the  word  that  is  apt 
without  is  inadequate  within.  The  silver  blue  of  the 
cestus  of  Venus  is  here,  but  clearer,  lighter,  as  if  it  had 
been  permeated  by  a  refinement  of  the  purest  white 
smoke,  as  if  an  infinite  number  of  threadlike  jets  of 
milk  had  been  injected  into  it,  and  then  it  had  been 
clarified  until  only  the  delicacy  of  the  tint  remains. 
The  oars  of  the  little  boats  seem  to  be  plunging  into  an 
immense  trough  of  molten  steel  and  to  come  up  radiant 
with  thousands  of  sparks.  Do  not  put  out  your  hand 
towards  them,  you  will  be  burnt.  Just  here  a  nude 
boy  plunges  into  the  molten  mass  and  swims  around 
our  boat.  But  his  form  is  no  longer  human,  whether 
fantastic  or  angelic,  for  a  million  spangles  glisten  like 
scales  upon  his  limbs.     Parthenope  must  have  shel- 


308  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

tered  herself  here  and,  swimming  out,  all  resplendent, 
dazzled  the  pilots  she  wrecked  for  her  amusement. 

The  boy  has  disappeared.  Coming  out  of  the  spark- 
ling vat,  he  is  clinging  to  the  rocks,  and  the  slapping 
waves,  spurting  up  even  into  our  boat,  seem  to  be 
looking  for  their  playfellow.  The  waves,  which  fill 
the  passage  regularly  as  they  come  into  the  Grotto, 
keep  the  water  in  incessant  motion,  rising,  falling, 
swirling;  it  seems  to  be  boiling  over  a  hidden  fire,  yet, 
in  a  comer,  it  becomes  more  pale  than  ever,  like  milk 
in  a  lapis-lazuli  dish.  The  phenomena  of  the  Blue 
Grotto  are  interesting,  charming,  not  grand,  nothing 
to  transport  your  soul,  but  a  retreat  in  fairyland  on  this 
real  earth.  To  oije  who  is  sensitive  to  colour,  there 
can  be  nothing  more  exquisite  than  this  play  of  lights; 
a  painter  must  dream  of  it  all  the  rest  of  his  life. 

We  have  repassed  the  hole  between  two  waves,  and 
still  dancing,  hilarious  as  the  sunlit  water  which  the 
oars  are  trying  to  elbow  into  order,  to  be  slapped  for 
their  pains,  balancing  and  swaying,  we  come  up  to  the 
white  steamer  lying  in  clear  outlines  upon  the  azure 
belt  of  Venus,  said  to  be  one  of  her  joys.  What  were 
her  sorrows  ? 

Capri,  chosen  by  Tiberius  for  his  voluptuosities, 
alone  should  be  able  to  tell  us,  the  strong  Capri,  where 
the  women  are  so  beautiful  and  where  the  sons  of  Livia 
could  love  no  more.     At  some  hundred  yards  from  the 


THE  HAPPY  ISLE  309 


port,  the  white  steamer  stops  again  and  rowboats 
carry  us  this  time  to  the  shore.  Capri,  the  isle  so 
vaimted  as  a  place  for  the  sweet  do-nothing  of  rest,  is 
a  heavy  sphere  of  massive  rock;  rising  bulkily  on  the 
right,  a  sheer  wall,  neither  decorated  by  verdure  nor 
relieved  by  any  of  the  fine  lines  of  nature's  architecture. 
On  the  left,  a  similar  rock,  not  so  high  and  with  less 
form,  is  quite  as  bare  and  as  regularly  gashed  with 
numerous  fissures.  Between  them  lies  the  plateau 
into  which  are  sunk  the  town  of  Capri  and  its  gardens. 
Over  this  great,  grey,  himimocky  mass  of  Apennine 
limestone  roads  wind  as  best  they  can  to  the  top  where 
Anacapri  occupies  the  summit  on  the  right.  Villas 
and  hotels  perch  there,  dominating  the  Bay  of  Naples, 
the  shores  of  the  Campania  and  of  Salerno,  and  the 
happy  people  in  them  breathe  an  air  whose  purity, 
lightness,  and  freshness  have  no  equal.  Do  not  look 
there  for  woods  or  for  shade.  If  there  were  any,  what 
would  they  do  but  swear  at  this  landscape  of  the  sea, 
of  Vesuvius,  and  the  Neapolitan  coast,  one  of  the  most 
magnificent  landscapes  of  the  world?  The  soil  is 
rocky,  severe,  sterile,  producing  only  bushy  plants  and 
ragged  trees;  it  yields  nothing  to  enrich  with  new 
perfiune  the  balmy  effluvias  wafted  here  across  the 
bays.  Let  us  hasten  away  from  voluptuous  Capri 
so  as  not  to  see  what  she  is ;  magnificently  rude.  Her 
beauty  is  virile  to  the  last  point;  she  would  be  forbid- 


3IO  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

ding  if  her  waves  were  not  blue,  if  her  skies  were  less 
fair  and  if  men  had  not  garlanded  her  with  flowers. 

For,  on  the  southern  side  of  the  island,  looking  over 
the  peaceful  sea,  villa  after  villa  rises  or  spreads  itself, 
filling  all  the  depression  between  the  two  vast  head- 
lands of  bare  rock.  These  villas  are  half-hidden 
under  arbours  and  pergolas  of  wistaria  and  roses,  be- 
hind their  hedges  of  carobs  and  oleanders.  The 
heights  of  Anacapri  protect  them  from  the  west  winds 
of  the  Atlantic.  How  could  the  winters  be  anything 
but  mild?  But  the  space  is  limited  on  this  plateau 
shut  in  between  the  two  rocky  extremities  of  the  island, 
and  the  houses  seem  to  be  standing  there  in  inextric- 
able confusion,  to  be  reached  by  paths  more  adapted 
to  donkeys  than  to  men.  An  enchanted  country,  but 
of  no  insipid  enchantment,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  an 
energetic,  muscular,  one  might  almost  say  a  sturdy, 
thickset  landscape.  There  are  shores,  like  that  of 
Sorrento,  where  one  feels  entirely  possessed  by  the 
joys  of  breathing  and  seeing.  At  Capri  I  have  no  such 
sense  of  abandon,  but  am  filled  with  courage  and  a  de- 
sire to  work.  One  might  become  lyrical  here,  perhaps; 
but  one  would  write  a  poem.  What  strange  inspira- 
tion might  I  find  in  the  Villa  Krupp,  toward  which  all 
the  Germans, — with  whom  the  island  has  been  over- 
populated  for  many  years, — have  been  wont  to  make 
their  absurdly  pious  pilgrimage?     I  can  no  more  be- 


THE  HAPPY  ISLE  311 

lieve  in  the  legend  that  hangs  over  it  than  do  the  re- 
spectful Germans,  for  I  see  quite  well  what  the  great 
bronze  founder  came  to  seek  in  his  peaceful  little 
middle-class  house.  He  came  for  repose,  a  repose  in 
harmony  with  his  murderous  soul.  When,  from  his 
window,  he  saw,  up  there,  the  hard,  dry  point  of  Solaro 
at  his  feet,  the  eternally  splashed  needle  of  Punta 
Tragara,  when  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  peaks  of  Fara- 
glioni,  when  he  passed  under  the  Natural  Arch,  and 
when  he  climbed,  as  I  am  doing,  the  treacherous  paths 
where  the  stones  rolled  from  under  his  feet,  up  to  the 
Villa  of  Tiberius,  in  these  vertiginous  expressions  of 
nature  the  gun-maker  found  his  dreams  of  grandeur 
and  power. 

My  pilgrimage  is  not  for  the  sake  of  Krupp,  but  for 
Tiberius,  whose  walls,  I  am  sure,  Suetonius  has  covered 
with  calumny.  If  we  were  not  already  mistrustful  of 
the  historian  from  what  we  learn  elsewhere  of  the 
childhood,  the  youth,  and  the  maturity  of  him  whom 
Augustus  called  "my  good  boy,"  it  would  suflEice  to 
come  here.  What  a  fitting  retreat  for  his  proud  spirit 
when  it  wearied  of  the  world  and  its  vain  agitations! 
I  gave  him  a  slur,  myself,  just  now.  Whom  does 
Suetonius  mock  but  us  ? 

On  this  extreme  point  of  the  island,  which  looks  first 
towards  Sorrento  and  .all  the  coast  of  Naples  as  far 
as  Salerno,  on  to  the  mountains  of  Calabria  and  back 


312  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

again  to  the  point  of  Gaeta,  Tiberius's  Roman  walls 
still  carry  their  straight  blocks  of  stone  and  their  vault- 
ings. Here  are  pavements  yet  intact,  niches  and 
round  halls  in  the  architectural  disorder  which  sur- 
prised us  on  the  Palatine  and  under  the  evergreen  oaks 
of  Hadrian's  Villa,  at  Tivoli,  but  which  became  famil- 
iar enough  to  us  before  the  close  of  our  month  in  Rome. 
A  church,  in  the  care  of  an  unkempt  hermit,  crowns 
the  eminence,  under  the  pretence  of  purifying  it,  no 
doubt,  an  unnecessary  expenditure  of  pious  energy. 
The  calcareous  rock  is  dr}"-  under  our  feet  and  barren 
but  for  the  sparse  tufts  of  coarse  grass.  In  the  im- 
perial days  there  must  have  been  here,  as  upon  the 
other  plateau,  that  of  Anacapri,  closely  clipped  quin- 
cunxes, flower-beds,  and  low  bushes.  Round  about  is 
the  vast  majesty  of  the  sea  thwarted  by  the  obstacle 
of  the  heavy  rock  of  the  island ;  the  coast  of  Sorrento 
of  which  we  see  nothing  but  the  peril;  Naples,  her 
white  line  drawn  by  fingers  that  never  tremble; 
Miseno,  set  like  a  period  over  the  comma  of  the  Phle- 
graean  Fields;  and  above  all,  dignified  Vesuvius,  even 
that  looking  somewhat  measured  and  kept  within 
bounds  by  the  wide  sweep  of  land  and  sea  about  it. 
Things,  as  well  as  humans,  have  their  virtues;  this 
island  is  gifted  with  a  heroic  lassitude,  a  repose  like 
that  of  Moses  who  wished  "to  sleep  the  sleep  of  the 
earth."     In  truth,  Tiberius  here  still  held  his  empire 


THE  HAPPY  ISLE  313 

within  his  tired  hands,  but  only  to  feel  the  immensity 
of  it  without  carrying  the  weight.  The  virtue  of  the 
refuge  of  Capri  is  that  which  we  seek  on  every  point 
of  earth,  upon  all  seas:  solitude  whipped  by  the  wind, 
the  j oy  of  finding  oneself  in  infinite  space.  Heaped-up 
stone,  bare  fields,  beating  waves,  the  vast  cup  of  the 
gulf,  rugged  headlands  dropping  suddenly  or  dipping 
gently  to  quiet  beaches,  this  is  a  place  for  the  repose  of 
strong  souls,  even  implacable  or  ferocious  minds,  but 
it  is  not  for  the  tame,  the  discouraged.  The  resigned 
spirit,  not  the  unheroic  coward,  will  always  find  con- 
solation in  the  imperishable  works  of  serene  nature. 
The  soil  of  Capri  has  engendered  some  of  the  most 
generously  endowed  creatures  of  Italy.  Coming  down 
from  the  heights  of  Tiberius's  retreat,  I  stopped  at 
a  bottiglieria, — literally  translated  a  bottle-place — 
where  I  was  offered  the  local  entertainment  of  the 
tarantella.  She  who  danced  it  with  bare  feet  on  the 
tiles  of  the  rustic  bar  knew  nothing  at  all  about  that 
or  any  form  of  dance.  Heavy,  lacking  all  grace,  with 
sloppy  feet,  scarcely  able  to  give  a  turn  to  her  dirty 
skirts,  burdened  with  the  dust  they  had  collected  upon 
the  road,  this  fallen  girl,  already  showing  age  above  the 
yoke  of  her  chemise,  under  the  coral  beads  on  her  neck, 
below  the  wild  brush  of  her  hair,  nevertheless,  was  not 
without  an  air  of  nobility.  Her  tired  features,  lashed 
for  how  many  generations  by  the  strong  sea-breeze. 


314  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

the  tint  of  her  skin  baked  a  hundred  times  by  the  re- 
fining fire  of  the  Southern  sun,  her  eyes,  spangled  with 
gold,  flaming  with  the  white  light  of  the  rocks  which 
shine  like  mirrors,  and  her  smile,  a  little  self-conscious 
over  her  fine  teeth,  this  poor  girl,  mincing  the  wiles  of 
the  woman  who  is  escaping  from  the  fatal  mosquito, 
from  the  insidious  malaria,  still  retains  in  her  manner, 
something  of  modesty,  of  dignity  that  touches  me. 
At  first  she  hopes  to  please  me  by  a  bait  she  has  often 
seen  the  tourist  rise  to,  but  quick  to  admit  the  futility 
of  her  awkward  lascivious  gestures,  she  seems  to  drop 
them  gratefully  under  the  reassertion  of  her  instinct- 
ive modesty.  The  women  of  Capri,  with  their  ardent 
eyes  and  majestic  carriage,  have  smiles  which  promise 
nothing  and  impose  respect.  Before  them,  one  feels 
like  a  sensitive  man  looking  at  a  Pompeian  bronze 
soiled  with  the  earth,  scarred  by  rust;  filled  with  ad- 
miration that  a  body  so  neglected  can  retain  so  much 
beauty.  You  see  them  going  about  the  streets  in 
their  clothes  of  many  colours,  their  strong  bosoms  in 
gold  braided  corslet ;  straight  and  severe  in  their  slow 
movements,  they  look  at  you  with  big  eyes  that  are 
deep  and  cold.  Never  have  I  understood  better  than 
at  Capri  what  was  the  Roman  idea  of  beauty.  In 
these  women  I  find  all  the  matrons  whom  I  admired  at 
the  Vatican  and  at  the  Museum  of  the  Thermae.  I 
have  seen  here  a  thousand  Livias,  replicas  of  Livia, 


THE  HAPPY  ISLE  315 

the  mother  of  Tiberius,  but  it  is  in  vain  that  I  have 
looked  for  the  daughter  of  Augustus,  the  light  Julia. 
The  women  of  Capri  are  superb  like  this  proud  island, 
a  faithful  portrait  of  it.  Capri  carries  her  head  high, 
with  brilliant  eyes  and  teeth,  straight  shoulders,  grace- 
ful arms,  broad  hips,  firm  on  the  feet;  and,  ravaged 
as  she  may  be  by  the  blast,  she  is  still  unchangeable 
with  her  imposing  presence  among  the  illustrious 
Tyrrhenian  daughters. 


TwelftK  Day 

THE   HEAVING   REGION, 
or  DAIA 


BOSOM 


[With  due  respect  to  the  British  censor,  be  it  submitted  that 
this  is  but  the  translation  of  the  classic  name  for  small  bay — 
Sinus — still  in  common  use,  as  il  seno  di  Baia.     H.  G  ] 

Pozzuoli 

FTER  having  strolled  over  the  trem- 
bling earth  lying  to  the  east  of  Naples, 
we  turn  to  the  west  where  we  shall  find 
it  burning.  From  Homer  to  the  most 
recent  poets,  who  has  not  sung  this 
land?  Pindar,  Polybius,  Diodorus,  Strabo,  Pliny, 
Horace,  Virgil,  Martialis,  and  Statius,  to  mention  only 
the  ancients.  But  to  adequately  celebrate  its  grand- 
eur is  a  privilege  that  has  been  reserved  for  our  own 
day.     He  who  would  do  justice  to  the  Phlegraean 

316 


THE  HEAVING  REGION.     BOSOM  OF  BAIA       317 

Fields  must  have  the  souls  and  the  skill  of  a  poet  united 
to  the  wisdom  and  knowledge  of  a  scientist.  The  re- 
markable writer  who  the  other  day  initiated  us  into 
the  mysteries  of  Herculaneum,  Signor  Giuseppe  de 
Lorenzo,  has  written  in  his  Campi  Flegrei  an  excellent 
treatise  on  the  geology  of  this  region — a  poem  in  prose 
— I  should  have  said  a  glorious  hymn  to  which  science 
has  given  the  breath  of  inspiration.  Nothing,  there- 
fore, but  an  inspired  translation  of  his  work  could  sug- 
gest the  lyric  beauty  and  the  scientific  interest  of  the 
wonders  the  author  has  found  here.  I  can  but  follow 
where  he  leads  and,  in  my  traveller's  notes,  try  to  re- 
flect the  light  shed  upon  my  way  by  the  geologist  poet 
in  whose  company  I  have  visited  the  Phlegraean  Fields 
from  Naples  to  Cumae.  At  Miseno  I  found  another 
friend,  him  whom  I  had  with  me  upon  the  ruins  of 
Selinunte.^  Between  these  two  Neapolitan  writers, 
Giuseppe  de  Lorenzo  and  Paolo  Savi-Lopez,  perhaps 
I  shall  be  able  to  write  with  stronger  feeling.  At  any 
rate,  I  am  aware  of  a  greater  sense  of  security,  since  it 
was  under  their  protecting  friendship  that  I  crossed 
these  fields  of  great  beauty  and  profound  scientific 
and  historic  interest,  so  well  trodden  by  their  firm  feet, 
so  well  seen  by  their  penetrating  eyes. 

First  of  all,  however,  let  us  invoke  the  shade  of 
Petrarch  who  wrote, — when  the  papacy  was  in  exile  at 

'  Little  Cities  of  Italy  {and  Sicily),  vol.  iii.  in  preparation. 


3i8  A   FORTNICHJ  IN  NAPLES 

Avignon, — "I  have  seen  the  places  where  Virgil  has 
been  and  more,  which  were  described  by  Homer. 
The  aged  sage  of  Greece  whom  no  genius  has  ever  ap- 
proached, finding  no  other  land  worthy  of  his  genius 
and  his  poem,  lent  them  to  Italy.  I  have  seen  the 
lakes  of  Avernus  and  Lucrino,  the  marshes  of  Acheron, 
the  Caligulan  Way  and  its  superb  arches,  ruined  by  the 
waters  now,  and  the  dyke  built  by  Caesar  into  the  sea. 
I  have  seen  the  country  inhabited  by  the  Sibyl,  the 
horrible  cavern  into  which  the  wise  never  enter  and 
from  which  the  foolish  never  return.  I  have  seen 
Monte  Falema  of  the  celebrated  vineyards,  the  arid 
earth  perpetually  exhaling  a  beneficent  smoke,  vomit- 
ing cinders  and  flames  with  a  confused  murmur,  like  a 
cauldron  furnace.  I  have  seen  the  rocks  distilling  their 
healing  waters,  and  the  baths  provided  by  nature 
against  all  the  ills  of  mankind  to  the  vexation  of  the 
doctors  of  medicine  disdained  by  eager  people  of  both 
sexes  and  all  ages.  I  have  seen  not  only  the  grotto  of 
Naples  of  which  Seneca  writes  in  his  letter  to  Lucius, 
but  also  round  about,  the  mountains  which  have  been 
dug  out  and  recovered  with  vaulting  of  marble,  shining 
with  brilliant  whiteness.  The  places  have  not  aston- 
ished me  more  than  the  works  of  men.  Already  I  have 
less  admiration  than  I  once  had  for  Roman  walls, 
Roman  towers,  Roman  palaces,  now  that  Roman 
solicitude  extends  so  far  from  the  fatherland  (if  the 


THE  HEAVING  REGION.    BOSOM  OF  BAIA       319 

right  thinking  man  does  not  find  himself  in  his  father- 
land wherever  he  is)  that  these  winter  delights  have 
become  suburban.  In  summer  one  has  Tivoli,  Fucion, 
the  shady  valleys  of  the  Apennines,  Lake  and  Mount 
Ciminus,  what  Virgil  calls  the  sunny  retreats  of  Um- 
bria,  the  shaded  hills  of  Tusculum,  Monte  Algido, 
living  springs  and  limpid  rivers  For  winter  we  have 
Antium,  Formiae,  Gaeta,  Naples.  But  no  place  is  so 
mild  and  so  desirable  as  Baia,  witness  writers  and  noble 
ruins.  I  know  that  Baia  satisfies  human  voluptuosity 
more  than  it  does  Roman  severity;  nevertheless  the 
rigid  Marius  might  be  praised  as  much  as  Cassar  and 
Pompey,  whose  customs  were  more  refined,  for  having, 
all  three  of  them,  chosen  this  environment,  not  to  lose 
themselves,  but  to  escape  softness  of  heart,  to  learn 
here  to  despise  the  noise  and  confusion  of  the  ports 
and  the  voluptuosity  of  Baia;  Scipio  Africanus  himself 
could  not  become  resigned  to  never  seeing  it  again." 

So  Petrarch,  having  planted  a  laurel  on  the  tomb  of 
Virgil,  sang  of  his  emotion.  Our  own  is  not  less 
strong,  the  emotion  of  all  whose  hearts  still  throb  with 
the  Latin  blood.  But  why  do  these  Phlegraean  Fields 
move  me  more  than  other  Latin  fields  ?  Why  do  they 
take  greater  hold  of  me  than  the  plains  of  Stabiae  and 
Pompeii?  It  is  because  this  is  our  source;  the  begin- 
nings of  our  himian  Latin  domain  spread  themselves 
upon  these  very  surfaces,  or  such  as  they  were  in  an- 


320  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

cient  days.  Here  Greece  took  her  ease;  here  Ulysses 
allowed  himself  leisure.  Think  of  that!  And  this 
was  the  chosen  resting-place  of  Rome  rather  than 
the  Neapolitan  Orient.  The  most  beautiful  of  legends 
and  the  greatest  dramas  of  history  unfolded  in  the 
palpitating  bosom  of  Baia;  and  to  them  are  added  the 
impenetrable  mysteries  of  the  world  in  its  perpetual 
tenure,  the  life  boiling  out  of  the  earth  which  one  ad- 
mires in  its  grandiose  actions  and  its  magnificent  fits 
of  anger.  Look  this  way  from  the  heights  of  Camal- 
doli  and  see  the  harmonious  scene  of  the  tormented 
crust  of  our  planet.  Picture  to  yourself  the  bay  not 
yet  formed,  think  of  Ischia,  and  Procida  linked  to 
Miseno,  hill  after  hill  standing  in  the  plains,  the  lakes 
still  craters  and  Monte  Nuovo,  the  New  Mountain  not 
yet  in  existence,  since  it  did  not  arise  until  the  six- 
teenth century.  The  Phlegraean  Fields  is  our  own 
image,  the  symbol  of  our  hiimanity  in  continuous 
formation,  aspiring  to  a  new  state,  breaking  up  every- 
thing about  it  in  order  to  approach  nearer  to  perfec- 
tion, sowing  ruin,  but  creating  life,  and  both  ruin  and 
life,  in  spite  of  the  sanies  discharged,  do  attain  a 
higher  beauty.  In  the  uncertainties  of  this  earth  are 
symbolized  all  our  weaknesses,  all  our  desires,  too; 
our  restless  instability  and  our  disorganized  effort, 
as  well  as  our  sleep,  filled  with  memories  of  horror  and 
of  love.     As  we  look  over  it  from  the  heights  of  Carnal- 


THE  HEAVING  REGION.    BOSOM  OF  BAM       321 

doli,  this  little  corner  of  earth  seems  not  to  have  found 
its  true  position  yet,  as  if  everything  would  put  itself 
in  order  by  and  by,  throw  up  another  mountain, 
lower  an  eminence  or  two,  cause  a  new  island  to 
emerge,  suppress  some  city  and  replace  a  valley  by 
a  pretty  bay.  Over  there  to  the  East,  Vesuvius  has 
long  been  too  fixed  and  terrible  for  us  to  touch  him; 
here  the  earth  is  living  like  ourselves,  apparently  en- 
jojring  the  passions  that  make  it  so  turbulent,  as  we 
do  ours,  with  a  magnificent  and  generous  fertility; 
and  it  is  the  earth  of  the  Cumaean  Sibyl,  of  Cicero,  of 
Agrippina,  of  the  very  essence  of  our  own  blood.  The 
myth  of  St.  Januarius  must  have  had  birth  here;  the 
boiling  blood  of  the  martyr  is  our  blood  which  quickens 
to  prodigious  action  as  it  leaps  from  the  body  of  our 
prolific  mother. 

Until  the  time  of  Murat,  Naples  had  but  one  road  to 
the  Phlegraean  Fields,  the  famous  tunnel,  pierced  in  the 
time  of  the  Romans,  under  the  hill  of  Posilipo.  Murat 
laid  out  the  Strada  Nuova  of  Posilipo  and  the  Savoy- 
ard Monarchy  dug  out  the  Grotta  Nuova,  making 
the  tunnel  used  almost  exclusively  today.  When  the 
tourist  is  up  on  the  hill  where  it  is  believed  that  Virgil 
was  buried,  there  is  but  one  way  for  him  to  take,  the 
airy  one  clinging  to  and  winding  with  the  rocks  of 
Ppsilipo,  Murat's  road.     From  here,  again,  is  an  en- 


322  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

tirely  new  aspect  of  the  entire  bay — aspects,  I  should 
say,  that,  under  the  varying  lights,  change  with  every 
hour  of  the  day.  The  road  mounts  the  hill  between 
two  lines  of  houses;  on  the  right,  the  dwellings  of 
the  people;  on  the  left,  high  above  the  sea,  happy 
and  memorable  villas.  Roman  voluptuosity  enjoyed 
dallying  upon  these  hillsides  from  which  it  beheld 
Baia  and  Naples,  Rome,  and  Greece.  There  in  the 
Villa  Pansilypon  Vedius  Pollio  advertized  his  gour- 
mandizing;  others  hid  their  love  affairs.  Queen  Joan 
II.  must  have  been  of  the  latter  company,  though, 
indeed,  she  seems  to  have  given  more  attention  to  her 
amours  than  to  hiding  them.  There,  too,  the  Viceroy 
Medina  tried  to  please  his  wife,  Anna  Caraffa  in  the 
Palace  of  Donn'  Anna  which  never  was  finished. 
From  Santa  Maria  del  Porto,  where  the  Medieval 
Neapolitan  poet  Sannazaro  reposes,  to  the  extreme 
point  of  Gajola,  the  mountain  has  remained  Posilipo, 
a  modern  departure  in  spelling,  but  still  dedicated 
to  pausis  lupes,  a  truce  to  sadness,  as  Pollio  put  it. 
Villas  crowd  one  another,  precipitating  their  gardens 
above  the  waves,  never  tiring  in  their  admiration  of 
the  bay  spread  out  before  them,  of  the  mountains  of 
Sorrento  and  Capri,  smiling  tempters  in  the  face  of  the 
gravity,  and  the  riches,  of  the  Cumsean  shores.  To- 
ward evening,  the  promenade  of  Posilipo  is  enchanting. 
What  can  be  compared  with  the  experience  of  going 


THE  HEAVING  REGION.     BOSOM  OF  BAIA        323 

to  Pozzuoli  by  way  of  the  New  Grotto  so  as  to  lay,  at 
Fuorigrotta,  your  homage  at  the  feet  of  the  great  lyric 
Italian,  Dante's  great  nephew,  Giacomo  Leopardi, 
then  to  return  to  Naples  by  the  Posilipo  road.  Vesu- 
vius, at  the  close  of  day,  is  indeed  the  spectacle  par 
excellence,  invaded  as  he  is  by  shadows,  the  lower  part 
already  black,  the  centre  height  pink,  the  summit  still 
brilliant.  The  sombre  zone  enlarges,  the  mauve  veil 
rises  slowly  until  it  envelops  only  the  smoke.  It  is, 
of  course,  the  hour  of  extinction;  but  the  changing 
effects  of  the  fading  light  are  of  the  tenderness  of 
ecstasy,  while  the  veil  of  darkness  falls,  covering  the 
sleeping  sea,  even  overcoming  Capri.  Naples  then 
shines  forth  with  her  little  lights  gleaming  through  the 
tracery  of  the  Villa  Nazionale,  and  Vomero  flashes 
out  her  brilliant  pearls  of  a  royal  crown. 

Posilipo  passed,  the  road  winds  along  with  the  beach 
of  Bagnoli  and  at  length  reaches  the  tufa  walls  which 
form  the  declivities  of  the  Phlegraean  Fields.  Not  one 
stone  of  this  soil  is  not  volcanic.  This  country,  like 
French  society — other,  too? — dances  over  a  volcano, 
over  twenty  volcanoes.  It  is  nothing  but  depressions 
and  elevations,  craters  which  have  become  lakes  that 
have  soon  dried,  mountains  that  have  sprung  up  sud- 
denly and  disappeared  without  warning.  It  looks  like 
ground  where  excavation  is  going  on.  In  the  early 
days  of  the  researches  in  Pompeii,  the  plain  of  the  Sar- 


324  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

no,  with  its  holes  and  mounds  of  thrown-up  rubbish, 
must  have  appeared  a  reduced  copy  of  the  Phlegrasan 
Fields.  The  rock  is  still  almost  nude,  the  humus  has 
not  yet  had  time  to  forjn  or  to  germinate.  Now  and 
then,  we  see  a  few  courageous  trees  making  an  attempt 
to  grow.  Stones  of  lava,  rocks  that  have  been  ex- 
pelled from  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  all  is  now  chaos, 
awaiting  the  order  which  nature  always  gives  at  length 
to  complete  her  work  and  to  which  man  sometimes 
lends  a  helping  hand.  The  earth  is  trying  to  set  her- 
self to  rights,  but  is  not  quite  decided  how  things 
should  go.  The  soil  is  unstable,  running  a  little  into 
the  sea  even  now,  as  if  the  great  internal  fire,  that  is 
still  master  here,  could  not  permit  it  to  lie  quietly. 
And  what  will  that  fire  do  next  ?  Solf  atara,  which  the 
ancients  called  the  Forum  of  Vulcan,  offers  a  spectacle 
both  pleasant  and  severe,  nor  more  one  than  the  other. 
As  you  approach  it,  you  exclaim.  What  peace!  Not  a 
sound,  not  a  breath  of  moving  air  in  this  vast  basin  of 
which  Virgil  must  have  been  thinking  when  he  wrote  of 
Avernus  having  no  birds  to  wrinkle  the  air  with  their 
flight.  The  depression  of  this  now  sleeping  volcano 
is  not  deep ;  it  is  quite  easy  to  go  down  into  it,  and  one 
can  still  see  the  vast  sky  above  and  have  no  fear,  all 
is  so  tranquil.  Scattered  about  are  a  few  puny  trees 
and  small  blanched  thickets  upon  the  slopes,  tufts 
and  bunches  almost  too  mean  to  be  called  vegetation. 


THE  HEAVING  REGION.    BOSOM  OF  BAIA       325 

But  what  silence  in  such  an  exquisite  lightness  of  air 
that  one  fancies  himself  enfolded  in  wings ! 

Meantime  the  greenish  dust  of  the  road  seems  to  be- 
come lighter  and  more  inclined  to  rise  in  clouds  than 
any  other  dust  ever  encountered.  I  am  enveloped 
in  the  finest  of  flying  atoms,  I  walk  on  clouds  of  them, 
I  create  fresh  cloudlets  with  every  step  I  take.  Do 
you  remember,  at  the  theatre,  Wotan  striking  the 
earth  while  invoking  the  subtile  Loge?  Under  the 
heel  of  the  god,  smoke  comes  out  of  the  earth  and  rises 
all  about  him,  capricious  and  impalpable.  The  tour- 
ist of  Solfatara  might  fancy  himself  become  the  sad 
and  weak  husband  of  the  honest  and  exigent  Frica. 
His  boots  provoke  fire,  and  if,  not  having  a  lance,  he 
throw  a  wisp  of  straw  into  the  pit,  all  the  smokes  of  the 
infernal  regions  rise  up  about  him.  Farther  on,  there 
are  sands  that  run  like  water,  and  one  is  astonished  to 
see  that  a  shovel  plunged  into  the  running  mass  brings 
up  nothing  but  a  bit  of  gravel.  This  beautiful  vase  of 
Solfatara  with  its  gentle  declivities  invites  us  to  some 
extremely  diverting  amusements.  How  many  varia- 
tions of  childish  magic  might  be  practised  here  if  this 
peaceful  nobility  were  suited  to  such  enchantments! 
We  will  not  trust  them,  but  keep  our  eyes  well  open, 
for  nothing  is  more  treacherous,  more  shifting  than  the 
mouth  of  this  crater.  Where  we  passed  yesterday,  we 
are  forbidden  to  go  today.    Small  reversed  cones  are 


326  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

forming  incessantly,  the  funnels  of  miniature  volcanoes 
which  empty  slowly,  become  exhausted  and  then  form 
anev/.  The  earth  thus  working  continually  up  to  the 
very  surface  is  consumed,  swells,  and  where  the  crust 
is  thinnest,  throws  off  its  vapours  which  must  find 
their  way  to  evaporation.  So  is  the  tragic  action  of 
nature  made  apparent  by  means  to  which  our  com- 
prehension is  closed.  We  walk  over  pest-tainted 
flames  and  see  nothing  but  death  round  about  us. 
The  struggle  is  here  taking  place  between  the  rage  of 
hell  and  the  gentleness  of  earth.  So  many  trees  and 
herbs  would  like  to  flourish;  but  the  fire  is  stronger 
than  they,  the  sulphur  deadly.  The  vapours,  which 
do  no  harm  to  us  passers-by,  stifle  the  plants,  blacken 
the  rocks  and  leave  a  constant  deposit  of  poison. 
Smilingly  as  we  may  come  into  the  crater,  we  go  out 
with  lips  tightly  shut.  It  was,  however,  in  1198,  that 
Solfatara  threw  out  these  rocks  lying  about.  How 
near  to  us  are  these  irresistible  forces,  this  unknown 
power;  and  who  could  doubt  that  hell  was  here? 
Although  we  do  not  recognize  our  feelings  under  the 
form  of  the  myth  of  Cyclops,  we  have  the  same  senti- 
ments as  had  the  companions  of  Ulysses  and  ^^neas. 
We  stop  before  the  unfathomable  mystery  with  no 
greater  sensations  than  theirs.  And  the  implacable 
and  exact  knowledge  of  the  savant  only  adds  to  our 
hvmiility. 


THE  HEA  VI NG  REGION.     BOSOM  OF  BAIA        327 

"At  the  base  of  the  crater  of  Solfatara,"  says  Signor 
Giuseppe  di  Lorenzo,  "the  water  is  almost  boiling, 
whereas  the  smoke  which  comes  out  through  the  walls 
attains  130°  Centigrade  (226"  Fahrenheit).  To  these 
hot  waters  and  vapours  are  joined  other  gases  which 
come  from  a  very  deep  layer  of  the  earth,  causing  a 
luxuriant  vegetation  which,  in  its  turn,  attracts  a  dense 
population.  This  population  knows  the  strength  of 
the  subterranean  fire  which  smoulders  under  its  feet 
and  sometimes  breaks  forth,  devastating  all  around  it, 
but,  also,  throwing  out  matter  from  which  life  will 
spring  tomorrow.  To  the  eruption  of  1 198  is  due,  prob- 
ably, the  trachytic  breccia  one  sees  at  the  south-east 
of  Solfatara,  near  the  little  church  of  Saint  Januarius 
(the  Neapolitans'  San  Gannaro,  who  was  beheaded 
here,  it  is  said,  because  the  lions  of  the  amphitheatre 
of  Pozzuoli  found  him  too  tough  to  tear  to  pieces). 
Some  of  the  blocks  of  that  rock  are  several  cubic 
yards  thick."  If,  with  the  help  of  the  scientist,  we 
were  able  to  measure  time,  we  might  appreciate  the 
insignificance  of  the  three  centuries  and  a  half  that 
have  rolled  away  since  the  appearance  of  Monte 
Nuovo,  by  comparing  them  with  the  thirty-odd  years 
since  the  last  great  eruption  of  Ischia,  the  island  which 
is  so  closely  connected  with  this  portion  of  the  yet- 
forming  mainland;  then,  perhaps,  we  should  under- 
stand something  of  the  mental  aberration  that  would 


328  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

attempt  to  compute  time  and  embrace  the  obscure 
works  of  the  universe. 

Pozzuoli  lies  below  Solfatara,  along  the  edge  of  the 
sea,  stretching  out  the  melancholy  of  its  vanished 
grandeur,  resigned  to  still  live  upon  this  changing  soil, 
to  change  with  it,  possessed  with  the  sentiment  of  the 
immobility  of  life  and  holding  to  one  sole  memory ;  its 
own  former  prosperity.  In  past  time,  upon  the  de- 
clivities of  these  mountains  were  the  villas  of  Cicero, 
of  Sylla,  of  the  Emperor  Nero  also,  and  the  scene  of 
that  orgy,  the  Cena  Trimalchionis,  rather  the  villa  of 
Petronius,  and  there,  the  legend  is,  the  Elegantiae 
arbiter  wish  to  die,  not,  however,  without  leaving  a 
revengeful  picture  of  his  time  in  the  immortal  Satyri- 
con.  From  the  hillside  where  the  burning  sun  ripens 
delicious  grapes,  the  Romans  looked  down  upon  the 
constantly  moving  waters  of  the  harbour  as,  today,  we 
gaze  over  the  port  of  Naples  from  Vomero.  Some  day, 
perhaps,  Signora  Matilde  Serao  will  choose  it  for  a 
novel  in  which  to  expose  the  corruption  of  our  twen- 
tieth century.  As  the  Naples  of  today  is  gradually 
becoming  an  industrial  centre  of  modem  Italy,  we 
can  appreciate  how  Pozzuoli  was  the  great  commercial 
centre  of  the  Romans.  Probably  founded  about  five 
hundred  years  before  Christ,  by  exiles  from  Samos, 
fleeing  from  Polycrates,  this  town,  under  the  name  of 
Dicaearchia  was  the  prey  of  the  neighbouring  colony 


THE  HE  A  VI NG  REGION.     BOSOM  OF  BAIA        329 

of  compatriots,  Cumae.  and  about  the  time  of  the  in- 
vasion of  the  Samnites,  gave  itself  to  Rome.  Ciimae, 
after  her  conquest,  was  no  longer  safe;  Pozzuoli,  on 
the  contrary,  thanks  to  her  harbour,  grew  and  pro- 
spered. While  Miseno  was  the  military  port,  Pozzuoli 
was  the  commercial  port,  excepting  the  time  of  the 
Punic  Wars  when  this,  too,  was  a  military  port.  All 
the  trafific  to  and  from  the  Orient  was  by  way  of  Poz- 
zuoli. Here,  one  day,  was  heard  the  clamour  raised 
by  Cicero  in  the  Roman  Forum:  "From  here,  I 
see  all  the  Pozzuolians,  rich  and  honest  merchants, 
come  to  attest  that  their  partners,  their  freedmen  who 
were  stolen  and  put  in  chains  by  Verres,  have  been 
massacred."  It  was  not  imtil  the  creation,  by  Claud- 
ius, of  the  port  of  Ostia,  that  Pozzuoli  fell  to  second 
rank.  At  that  time  Naples  scarcely  existed.  The 
supremacy  that  she  was  to  take,  first  of  all  was  Poz- 
zuoli's;  and  the  strange  irony  of  it  all  was  that  Naples 
lost  her  glory  because  she  wished  to  remain  Greek, 
and  Pozzuoli  hers  because  she  became  Roman.  Poz- 
zuoli, however,  flourished  with  all  the  trade  of  the 
East  during  the  Republic  and  the  earlier  part  of  the 
Empire.  All  "the  monsters  of  the  sea"  landed  here 
their  products  and  their  mentality,  the  grain  and  the 
beauty  being  carried  on  to  Rome.  The  rage  for  pil- 
lage of  the  Roman  proconsuls  and  men  of  letters  who 
tore  Greece's  masterpieces  from  her,  foimd  its  last 


330  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

port  here.  All  the  marvels  of  Greek  art  that  fill  the 
museums  of  Rome  and  Naples  passed  through  this 
city.  Here,  too,  landed  the  Apostle  Paul,  finding 
refuge  among  the  Jews,  come,  like  himself,  from  Syria. 
Hither  Egypt  sent  her  children  and  her  gods.  How 
beautiful  Pozzuoli  must  have  been,  checkered  and 
moving  with  many  coloured  and  diversely  fashioned 
costumes,  her  warehouses  bursting  with  the  grain 
destined  for  the  Roman  people,  her  magazines  full 
of  the  purple  of  Tyre  for  the  Roman  togas!  From 
the  heights  of  the  overlooking  hill,  Sylla,  Cicero, 
and  Petronius  contemplated,  one  the  puissance,  one 
the  effort,  the  third  the  pleasure,  in  the  wealth  coming 
into  this  shore  on  its  way  to  Rome. 

Of  those  vanished  days,  Pozzuoli  now  pointing  her 
empty  quays  into  a  useless  sea,  has  nothing  but  ruins 
left.  One  of  these  is  the  amphitheatre  which,  in  the 
eighteenth  century  was,  like  the  Forum  Romanum 
a  pasture,  and  which,  uncovered,  today  offers  us  the 
spectacle  of  a  superb  montunent.  The  Colosseum 
alone  surpasses  it,  although  the  amphitheatre  of  Capua 
has  a  more  interesting  substructure.  The  other  great 
ruin  of  Pozzuoli  is  the  Temple  of  Serapis,  famous  for  a 
learned,  controversy  into  which  I  do  not  enter.  For 
a  long  time  it  was  a  temple,  but  is  no  longer.  Have 
things,  like  people,  changing  moods?  The  truth  is, 
the  qualifications  as  a  temple  given  to  this  monument 


1) 
H 


Alinari 


Pozzuoli  from  the  Bay 


Alinari 


The  Solfatara,  Pozzuoli 


THE  HE  A  VI NC  REGION.     BOSOM  OF  BAIA        331 

were  never  very  solid.  At  the  time  of  its  discovery, 
in  1750,  the  early  work  of  excavation,  brought  to  light 
a  statue  of  Serapis,  and  that  is  about  all  the  reason 
there  was  to  give  the  name  of  an  Egyptian  temple  to 
what  the  most  recent  archaeological  research  can  only 
call  a  market-place.  If  I  hold  any  conjectures  of  my 
own,  I  feel  restrained  to  prudence  by  the  shocking 
example  of  a  German  archaeologist  who,  some  twenty 
years  ago,  saw  in  these  ruins  the  remains  of  an  ancient 
fish-pond.  From  Serapis  to  an  oyster-park  there  is 
abundance  of  room  for  the  idealists  who  incline  to 
temples,  the  materialists  fond  of  markets,  and  those 
who  wish  to  indulge  in  the  Socratic  irony  for  the  bene- 
fits of  the  Pozzuolian  oysters  of  long  ago.  We  who 
have  been  thinking  of  Petronius  who  came  to  die  at 
Pozzuoli  and  there  chiselled  out  his  vengeance,  we  who 
are  obliged  today  to  transfer  our  Petronius  from  Poz- 
zuoli to  Naples  and,  perhaps,  to  give  him  up  altogether 
because  some  clever  people  declare  that  he  never 
existed,  we  to  whom  is  denied,  also,  the  right  to  see 
Cicero  upon  this  hill  on  account  of  a  theatre  in  the 
place  of  his  villa, — we  refuse  absolutely  to  take  sides 
in  any  question  but  that  of  beauty. 

In  the  midst  of  the  houses  and  terraced  gardens  of 
the  Serapeum  is  a  sort  of  grand  courtyard  around 
which  some  thirty  small  constructions  are  ranged,  one 
of  them,  higher  than  the  others,  being  in  the  form  of 


332  .4   FORT  SIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

an  apse.  In  front  of  that,  stand  three  high  solitary 
columns  which  might  well  have  been  the  columns  of  a 
peristyle.  The  centre  of  the  court  reminds  one  of  the 
way  a  circus-ring  is  laid  off  in  its  debris  of  columns, 
capitals,  and  cornices.  Sixteen  other,  and  entire, 
mhimnR  have  been  carried  away  to  the  Castle  of  Cas- 
erta  where  they  ornament  the  chapel.  The  first 
impression  is  that  of  a  public  square  with  its  basilica 
of  apse  and  peristyle,  and,  in  the  centre,  its  commercial 
building.  The  place  is  full  of  mystery  and  charm. 
The  constructions  along  the  outer  boimdary,  each  with 
its  one  window,  look  with  their  thirty  eyes  upon  the  ra- 
vages of  men  which  respected  their  insignificance.  The 
standing  coltmms  arouse  our  curiosity  by  their  mute 
age  and  enchant  our  artistic  sense  by  their  dull  patina. 
Must  one  always  weep  over  ruins  ?  They  are  so  beau- 
tifid  and  they  give  us  so  much  to  dream  over !  How 
insipid  the  world  would  be  if  everything  in  it  remained 
intact!  But  it  is  so  difficult  for  a  man  to  detach  his 
thoughts  from  himself;  everything  has  reference  to 
his  point  of  view  in  life,  and  he  loves  to  find  himself 
in  everything.  Ruins  awaken  his  ingenuity  and  his 
poetic  sentiments.  Let  us  not  disdain  to  remain  ignor- 
ant of  some  things  in  order  to  feel  them  the  more,  es- 
pecially when  we  cannot  know  them  except  by  means 
of  a  science  that  is  brittle  in  the  hands  of  the  best. 
Let  us  love ;  in  that  we  have  the  secret  of  life.     Beauti- 


THE  HE  A  VI NG  REGION.    BOSOM  OF  BAIA       333 

ful  columns,  ravaged  by  time,  like  these  in  a  desert 
field  of  Pozzuoli  speak  to  the  heart.  I  have  been 
thinking  here  of  debris  of  the  Forum  Romanum,  in 
similar  posture,  the  recollection  is  as  rich  to  me  as  the 
clearest  certainties  and  the  most  irrefutable  and  pre- 
cise information. 

We  need  information  as  exact  as  we  can  get  it,  how- 
ever, and  for  that  I  turn  again  to  my  guide  Signor 
Giuseppe  de  Lorenzo.  He  says :  "On  entering  the  en- 
closure of  the  Serapetun,  one  sees  in  the  centre  of  the 
ancient  structure  a  mass  of  tnmcated  columns,  en- 
tablature of  marble  and  capitals,  all  upon  the  grotmd 
among  fallen  brick  walls.  Above  it  rise  majestically 
three  great  colimins  of  cipolin,  their  shafts  headless 
and  their  bases,  like  all  the  ruins  roimd  about,  standing 
in  brackish  water  which  rises  and  falls  with  the  tide. 
In  fact  this  water  comes  from  the  sea  by  a  narrow  canal 
and  mingles  with  the  water  of  the  hot  springs  that 
come  down  from  the  hill.  If  you  approach  the  col- 
umns, you  see  that  they  emerge  from  some  six  feet 
of  water,  lying  upon  the  mosaic  pavement  of  the 
ancient  building.  So,  the  pavement  of  this  Serapetma 
which,  in  the  time  it  was  built,  must  have  laid  a  yard 
or  more  above  sea-level,  is  today  more  than  a  yard 
below  it,  as  are  also  the  quays  of  the  port  of  Pozzuoli, 
Miseno  and  all  the  imperial  constructions  which  ex- 
tend along  the  coast  of  the  Phlegraean  Fields.     But 


334  -4   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

astonishment  does  not  stop  there.  On  examining  the 
three  columns,  they  are  found  corroded  by  the  water 
of  the  sea.  Above  and  below,  they  are  intact,  smooth 
as  ever  they  were.  And,  upon  looking  closely  at  the 
corrosion,  one  will  find  that  it  is  the  piercing  of  regular 
holes  such  as  the  lithophyte  bore  in  calcareous  rock, — 
in  fact,  in  many  of  the  holes  are  still  found  the  shells 
of  their  ancient  inhabitants.  Similar  phenomena  of 
marine  erosion  have  been  produced  upon  the  calca- 
reous columns  in  the  centre  of  the  Serapeum ;  of  course 
the  granite  columns  do  not  have  it.  From  this  testi- 
mony there  is  no  doubt  that  the  great  cipolin  colvmins 
have  followed  of  the  movement,  both  sinking  and  ris- 
ing, of  this  coast ;  that  they  sunk  in  their  vertical  posi- 
tion into  the  sea  where  the  mollusks  and  the  water 
have  gnawed  them,  and  rose,  still  maintaining  their 
posture,  but  slightly  inclined  towards  the  sea.  But 
why  does  not  the  zone  of  erosion  extend  over  the 
entire  lower  part  of  the  columns  which  have  thus  stood 
in  the  sea-water?  The  geological  studies  upon  this 
question  permit  us  to  follow  the  millenary  vicissitudes 
of  the  Serapeum. 

"This  structure  existed  already  at  the  beginning  of 
our  era,  and  it  was  still  full  of  life  and  of  marbles  in  the 
second  and  third  centuries,  as  is  proved  by  the  in- 
scriptions of  Septimius  and  Alexander  Severus.  The 
shadows  of  the  Middle  Ages  enveloped  it  from  that 


THE  HE  A  VI NG  REGION.     BOSOM  OF  BAIA       335 

time  on,  but  that  it  must  have  begun  to  sink  then  is 
shown  by  the  natural  deposits  found  in  it.  Owing  to 
its  gradual  sinking,  the  sea-water  entered  the  enclo- 
sure, mingling  with  the  waters  of  a  hot  spring.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  pond  thus  formed  was  made  a  calcare- 
ous deposit  more  than  half  a  yard  thick.  Then,  the 
eruption  of  Solfatara,  in  1198,  filled  the  temple  to  the 
height  of  about  three  yards,  with  a  mass  of  volcanic 
tufa.  This  volcanic  mass  must  have  cut  off  commu- 
nication between  the  building  and  the  sea  and  trans- 
formed the  floor  of  the  temple  into  a  tank  of  the  fresh 
spring  water,  and  that,  in  turn,  covered  the  volcanic 
deposits  with  a  fresh-water  calcareous  deposit,  irregu- 
lar at  the  bottom,  since  it  covered  eruptive  deposits, 
but  forming  a  level  surface.  But  the  sinking  of  the 
coast  went  on,  re-establishing  communication  between 
this  abandoned  ruin  and  the  sea,  which  spread  another 
layer  of  eruptive  matter  brought  up  with  the  tide. 
Thus  it  was  that  at  times  of  great  sinking  of  the  soil 
the  columns  stood  in  the  sea,  even  when  they  already 
stood  some  four  yards  deep  in  divers  layers  of  deposits, 
about  three  yards,  then,  being  subject  to  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  tide,  and  some  five  yards  above  being  un- 
touched. 

"  This  was  the  state  of  things  toward  the  year  1500, 
when  the  coast  began  to  rise  and  soon  inclined  up- 
wards with  the  rise  of  Monte  Nuovo,  in  1538,  and  al- 


336  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

most  the  entire  beach  was  raised  high  and  dry.  From 
that  time  until  now,  the  Serapeum  has  had  the  appear- 
ance of  a  dry  and  sandy  beach  from  which  emerged 
high  columns  of  cipolin,  smooth  above  and  eaten 
below.  These  columns  standing  in  the  sand  aroused 
interest  in  excavation,  which  was  begun  in  1749,  and 
which  revealed  the  ancient  edifice  whose  vicissitudes 
are  not  yet  ended,  since,  at  the  beginning  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  began  another  sinking  of  the  coast, 
which  is  still  in  progress,  carrying  the  colimins  of 
Serapis  with  it,  a  half  inch  to  an  inch  disappearing 
below  the  sea-level  every  year." 

On  the  beach,  near  Pozzuoli,  extends  today  formid- 
able steel  works.  Will  that  and  its  cannons  go  down 
out  of  sight,  or  almost  so,  as  did  the  coltunns?  But 
what  must  we  think  of  this  land  that  is  never  still, 
sinking  and  rising  continually.  It  breathes  like  a 
woman  in  repose;  its  bosom  rises  and  falls  with  the 
regularity  of  the  centuries,  and  what  is  it  but  the  sinus 
Baiarum  which  from  the  day  in  which  it  was  first 
named  palpitated  under  the  growth  of  a  world  al- 
ways tender,  always  dangerous,  also;  where  men  dally 
in  ecstasy,  lose  themselves  in  luxurious  voluptuous- 
ness, then  sink. 


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bejU 

XHirteentK  Dax 

TEA  AT  THE  VILLA  OF  LUCULLUS 

Baia,  Miseno 

N  the  eastern  side  of  the  Cape  of  Miseno, 
back  to  the  sea,  face  to  the  bays  and  to 
the  asperities  of  the  Phlegrsan  Fields, 
at  the  hour  when  the  sun,  having  burnt 
out  his  fierce  ardour,  but  not  his  clear 
light,  illuminates  the  magic  harbour  with  his  scruti- 
nizing rays,  upon  the  terrace  of  a  villa,  standing  upon 
the  hillside  among  the  grapevines,  three  friends  are 
tasting  a  memorable  wine,  golden,  like  the  girls  of  the 
Campania,  and  soft  as  their  speech.  After  a  day  in 
which  one  of  them,  a  Frenchman,  has  been  initiated  by 
the  others,  Italians,  into  the  splendours  of  the  Bay  of 
Baia,  the  three  have  come  to  rest  under  the  shelter  of 
"  337 


338  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

these  roses  and  camellias.  The  French  traveller,  at 
the  moment,  enjoys  the  deference  kindly  shown  by  his 
companions  to  the  visitor.  It  is  because  his  heart  is 
quite  new  to  this  country  whose  prestige  equals  its 
beauty.  It  seems  to  the  newcomer  that  he  is  more 
keenly  aware  of  his  enjoyment  here  than  his  friends. 
When  they  come  to  Paris,  the  Scholar  and  the  Man  of 
Letters  will  take  their  revenge  on  the  Parisian  traveller, 
blase  to  the  riches  of  his  own  city.  Today  the  treas- 
ures of  Baia  are  his.  His  happiness  seems  exaggerated, 
perhaps,  try  as  he  may  to  avoid  an  insolent  expansion. 
At  first,  they  talk  but  little,  the  Traveller  allowing  his 
sensations  to  rise  and  form  their  pictures,  the  Scholar 
and  the  Man  of  Letters  careful  not  to  trouble  the  emo- 
tion of  their  guest  in  this  magic  villa  that  the  Man  of 
Letters  has  just  opened,  since  it  is  his.  Gradually, 
however,  under  the  velvet  wine  of  Miseno,  tongues 
begin  to  wag.  The  Traveller,  insatiable  as  he  is, 
plies  his  friends  with  questions,  and  they  edify  him 
while  plunging  him  in  the  most  agreeable  state  of 
humility.  Baia  with  its  surroundings  spreads  out  at 
their  feet  and  before  their  eyes.  The  Traveller  begs 
his  two  friends  to  instruct  him  upon  the  wonders  on 
which  their  four  eyes  had  opened  as  children,  and  of 
which  Virgil's  word  pictures  had  nourished  the  youth 
'  of  Italians  and  Frenchman  alike. 

The  Traveller:    Tell  me,  oh,  Paolo,  master  of 


Brogi 


Misenum  and  the  Mare  Morto,  the  Isle  of  Ischia  in  the  Distance 


IIP^ 


Brogi 


The  Capo  Miseno  from  the  Sea 


TEA  AT  THE  VILLA  OF  LUCULLUS  339 

these  vine-stocks,  is  this  wine,  worthy  of  the  gods, 
which  you  offer  me  so  Hberally,  this  wine,  distilled  by 
the  rock  of  Miseno  on  the  slope  where  your  house 
stands,  is  it  the  heroic  descendant  of  that  which  Lu- 
cullus  used  to  drink?  That  makes  it  still  better! 
And  I  should  like  to  think  that  this  villa  where 
you  are  receiving  us  occupies  the  very  place  of 
that  of  the  conqueror  who,  though  so  much  occu- 
pied in  meeting  his  kind,  still  had  time  to  love  good 
things. 

The  Man  of  Letters  :  Do  not  ask  so  many  ques- 
tions at  once,  Traveller.  I  know  the  impatience  of  a 
Frenchman.  Yes,  this  wine  comes  from  the  vines  that 
have  crowned  Cape  Miseno  for  two  thousand  years. 
Lucullus  drank  it,  and  these  slopes  were  his ;  but  did  he 
live  here  ?  He  owned  so  many  villas ;  here,  at  Pozzuoli, 
at  Naples,  everywhere  one  comes  upon  property 
bought  by  the  wealth  he  amassed  in  Asia.  It  is  said, 
however,  that  on  his  Miseno  estate  he  probably  lived 
in  the  villa  at  Bauli,  today  Bacoli,  which  lies  on  our 
left,  between  the  Castle  of  Baia  and  the  port  of  Miseno. 
But  who  knows?  With  the  Romans,  a  villa  did  not 
mean  only  a  house  where  one  lived;  a  villa  was  an 
estate  often  so  difficult  of  access  that  it  was  necessary 
for  the  proprietor  to  maintain  a  habitation  for  himself 
in  readiness  for  his  visits.  You  remember  Cicero  and 
his  villas .     It  is  what  you  Frenchmen  call  your ' '  terres, ' ' 


340  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

the  Englishman  his  "estate,"  the  American,  also,  or 
his  "property." 

The  Traveller  :  Thank  you  for  making  a  fool  of 
me.  May  it  be  only  this  time!  So  Lucullus  culti- 
vated Miseno? 

The  Man  of  Letters:  Undoubtedly,  and  there  is 
nothing  contrary  to  his  having  lived  here.  Was  it  at 
Bauli  or  at  Miseno  that  Tiberius  died  in  the  villa 
bought  by  Lucullus  for  two  million  and  a  half  sesterces  ? 
Excuse  me  from  making  the  choice,  much  as  I  should 
like  to  please  you. 

The  Traveller  :  And,  my  dear  Paolo,  was  it  here, 
among  your  own  vines,  that  the  bust  of  Tiberius  was 
found,  that  one  now  in  the  Louvre? 

The  Man  of  Letters  :  You  are  sure  that  it  came 
from  Miseno? 

The  Traveller  :  Stendhal,  who  bought  it  for  four 
ecus  from  a  contadino,  makes  the  statement,  together 
with  another  that  he  had  a  nose  put  on  it  by  a  sculp- 
tor in  Rome,  named  Vogelsberg.  As  a  thank  offering 
for  kindnesses  received  from  him,  Stendhal  gave  the 
bust  to  Count  Mole,  who  gave  it  to  the  Louvre. 

The  Man  of  Letters:  I  trust,  then,  for  my  own 
glory,  that  that  Tiberius  was  found  in  my  gardens. 

The  Traveller:  You  were  speaking  just  now  of 
Bacoli.  Is  it  the  village  through  which  we  passed  on 
our  way  here?    We  crossed  a  charming  little  bridge 


TEA  AT  THE   VILLA  OF  LUCULLUS  341 

shaped  like  a  donkey's  back,  where  I  expected  our 
horse  would  leave  us,  either  by  her  own  personal  de- 
cision or  because  of  a  break  in  the  harness. 

The  Scholar  :  That  bridge  spans  the  passage  to  the 
''mare  morto"  the  second  port  of  Miseno.  Even  the 
small  boats  of  Ulysses  could  not  lie  in  it  now ;  but  in  the 
time  of  Augustus  and  of  Pliny,  the  Roman  jfleet  was 
easily  sheltered  there,  during  the  tempests  which  used  to 
and  still  agitate  the  outer  port,  the  harbour  at  our  feet. 

The  Traveller:  Ah,  yes,  it  is  clearly  seen;  the 
main  port  is  under  the  shelter  of  the  cape  upon  which 
we  are  seated,  and  close  by,  on  the  side  of  the  gulf,  by 
that  point  all  hollowed  out  below  where  the  sea  pene- 
trates with  galleries  which  seem  to  have  had  their 
great  doors  battered  in.  But,  scholarly  Peppino,  if 
we  think  that  we  know  just  how  much  the  passage  to 
the  ''mare  morto"  has  been  filled  in,  we  are  less  well 
informed  on  some  other  ancient  aspects  of  this  gulf  we 
are  looking  upon.  I  should  like  to  know  wherein  it 
resembles  that  of  the  days  when  the  Roman  luxury 
(condemned  by  Horace  in  his  Fifteenth  Ode  of  the 
Second  Book)  covered  its  shores  with  bathing  resorts 
and  villas.  Still  more  I  wonder  how  it  looked  when 
^neas  gave  the  land  here  the  name  of  his  trumpeter 
whose  ashes  here  sent  their  smoke  to  heaven.  Now, 
my  lettered  host,  why  do  you  not  dig  up  your  gardens 
to  find  the  brass  urn  ? 


342  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

The  Scholar:  Why  do  we  stop  at  ^neas?  Ulys- 
ses, according  to  the  testimony  of  Strabo,  gave  the 
name  of  his  companion  Baio  to  this  land  where  he  came 
ashore.  Hercules  himself  captured  the  oxen  of  Geryon 
here.  But,  to  answer  your  question,  however  far 
back  we  go,  however  near  we  approach  to  our  own 
time,  we  find  the  Phlegraean  Fields  in  perpetual  trans- 
formation. If  we  wish  to  obtain  a  fair  idea  of  their 
changes,  however,  we  must  not  consider  them  in  detail, 
but  in  their  geological  unity.  The  first  time  that  we 
come  upon  this  name  of  Phlegraean  is  in  Pindar,  when 
the  poet  sings  of  the  combat  between  the  gods  and 
the  giants.  Aristotle,  Polybius,  Diodorus  give,  with 
reason,  the  name  Phlegraean  to  all  the  Campania. 
Strabo  and  Pliny,  on  the  contrary,  apply  it  exclusively 
to  the  hills  between  Naples  and  Cumas.  We  are  less 
prodigal  than  the  former  and  more  generous  than  the 
latter.  The  hills  of  the  mainland,  the  outstanding 
capes,  the  islands  detached  from  the  shore,  from  Capri 
and  Sorrento,  including  Naples,  Cumae  and  Gaeta  as 
far  as  the  Cape  of  Circeo,  all  is  one  to  science.  Draw 
a  cord  from  Cape  Minerva  to  Cape  Circeo;  the  coast 
will  be  its  bow,  including  in  its  ellipse  Ischia,  Nisida, 
Vivara,  Procida,  and  all  the  small  islands.  Sea,  islands, 
mountains,  all  have  the  same  form,  the  same  structure, 
the  same  origin.  The  sea  which  separates  the  islands 
from  the  mainland  and  from  each  other  is  not  deep; 


TEA  AT  THE  VILLA  OF  LUCULLUS  343 

and  its  bottom  is  in  perpetual  motion,  having  oscillated 
about  a  dozen  yards  since  the  days  of  the  Romans. 
Islands,  sea-bottom,  and  mainland  rest  upon  a  large 
platform  which,  near  Ischia,  lies  about  five  hundred 
meters  deep  and  gradually  rises  toward  the  Apennines. 
The  geological  excavations  prove  that  the  base  of  those 
mountains  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  islands.  All  the 
eminences  we  see  are  of  volcanic  formation,  conse- 
quences of  conflagrations,  explosions,  erosions,  rocks 
jiunping  out  of  the  sea,  as  one  day  the  cone  of  Miseno 
came  up. 

The  Traveller:    Long  ago? 

The  Scholar:  Do  not  be  alarmed.  Aside  from 
the  sudden  explosions,  this  ground  is  changing  every 
day  without  our  perceiving  it,  and  the  entire  world  is 
changing  in  the  same  way,  the  earth  perpetually  at 
work.  In  infinite  space  exist  infinite  worlds  which 
form  and  die  after  having  lived,  that  is  to  say,  having 
developed,  but  without  beginning  and  udthout  end. 
Buddha  said  thart  two  thousand  five  hundred  years 
ago,  and  the  circle  in  which  men  continually  go  round, 
enveloped  in  ignorance,  passing  from  birth  to  death 
and  from  death  to  birth,  moves  in  the  infinity  of 
regeneration. 

The  Traveller:  When,  then,  did  we  appear,  we 
natives  of  Miseno? 

The  Scholar  :     Information  stops  at  the  fifth  cen- 


344  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

tury,  B.  c,  with  the  Etruscan  war.  If,  however,  we 
know  how  to  read  Homer,  we  appreciate  that  Ulysses 
must  have  had  the  enviable  opportunity  to  be  present 
at  a  most  interesting  period  of  coilflagration. 

The  Traveller:     You  are  speaking  seriously? 

The  Scholar:  Nothing  of  great  importance  has 
happened  for  the  last  two  thousand  five  hundred  years, 
except  the  appearance  of  Monte  Nuovo;  oh,  yes,  there 
were  the  eruptions  of  Vesuvius  in  79  of  our  own  era,  of 
Solfatara  in  1198,  and  of  Ischia  in  1302,  besides  the 
three  outpourings  of  Ischia  in  91,  300,  and  474  b.  c. 

The  Traveller:  So,  aside  from  normal  changes 
common  to  the  entire  earth,  this  land  may  be  con- 
sidered as  pretty  much  the  same  as  that  so  loved  by 
the  Greeks  and  Romans. 

The  Scholar  :     They  were  here  so  few  years  ago. 

The  Man  of  Letters:  Really,  Peppino,  you  are 
lacking  in  the  sense  of  time. 

The  Scholar:  It  is  you,  Paolo,  who  lack  the  sense 
of  eternity.  We  have  evidence  of  a  mere  yesterday  in 
time  in  the  ruins  that  lie  under  the  present  Bacoli, 
about  the  Piscina  mirabile  and  the  Cento  Camerelle; 
you  have  seen  it  even  on  the  beach.  Traveller,  in  the 
so-called  Tomb  of  Agrippina  and  the  remains  of  the 
Roman  port,  extending,  on  the  one  side,  towards  Baia, 
and,  on  the  other,  in  the  direction  of  Miseno  along 
those  porticos  which  border  the  Punto  di  Pennaia, 


TEA  AT  THE  VILLA  OF  LUCULLUS  345 

and  forming  a  little  peninsula.  This  peninsula  is  a 
fragment  of  the  crater  of  Miseno  which  is  the  circular 
port  that  lies  at  our  feet.  It  has  been  pierced  below 
to  establish  easy  communication  between  it  and  the 
gulf,  from  Bacoli  to  Miseno.  Boats  use  the  passage 
between  the  incrustations  of  acorn-shells  which  adorn 
the  walls  of  yellow  tufa;  they  scrape  the  pavement  on 
which  people  used  to  walk,  on  which,  today,  curl  and 
beat  the  waves  of  the  sea.  At  present  the  sea  has 
encroached  upon  the  land  here;  later,  the  land  may 
encroach  upon  the  sea,  for  so  the  life  of  the  world 
moves. 

The  Traveller:  Kindly  stop  it  at  the  Romans, 
those  Hellenized  Romans  of  Pompeii,  your  own  an- 
cestors, I  am  sure,  Peppino.  I  see  you  perfectly  as  the 
high-priest  of  Isis,  indefatigable  gleaner  after  the  har- 
vest of  death  for  the  untiring  regeneration  of  the  uni- 
verse. And  tell  me  how  this  gulf  lay  spread  out  before 
your  eyes  in  the  time  when  you  were  brought  to  the 
Pompeiian  shores  by  the  vessel  of  Isis  ? 

The  Scholar:  It  was  not  until  after  the  Punic 
Wars  that  the  Romans  took  any  notice  of  Baia.  It 
seems  that  they  were  attracted  to  it  by  the  healthful- 
ness  of  the  sulphurous  waters,  of  which  there  are  so 
many  springs  in  this  region.  You  saw,  as  you  were 
coming  here,  the  Baths  of  Nero,  as  are  called  these 
caverns  in  the  rocks  above  the  road  between  Lucrino 


346  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

and  Baia.  In  the  seventeenth  century  they  were  still 
in  tise.  Pozzuoli  and  Baia  were  popular  bathing  re- 
sorts. People  who  came  here  had  much  to  say  about 
the  beauty  of  these  cities  on  their  return  to  Rome. 
The  coast  was  sown  with  villas  at  the  time  of  the  civil 
war,  the  first  of  them  being  built  for  Licinius  Crassus 
and  Caius  Marius,  the  vanquisher  of  the  Cimbri. 
Pozzuoli  remained  particularly  a  city  of  bathing  es- 
tablishments when  the  western  side  of  the  bay  became 
the  resort  for  rest  and  pleasure.  Particularly  were 
there  two  groups  of  habitations,  those  upon  the  heights 
and  those  by  and  even  over  the  sea,  according  to  the 
testimony  of  Horace :  "  Sepulcri  Immemor,  struts  domos; 
Marisque  Bails  obstrepentis  urges  Summovere  littora.'' 
Caesar  and  Pompey  had  houses  on  the  hill,  as  Seneca 
tells  us:  nothing  prevents  us  from  placing  their  villas 
above  the  so-called  Nero's  Baths,  the  baths  being  part 
of  their  property.  Baths  were  important  niatters  to 
our  ancestors,  and  this  soil  was  too  rich  in  mineral 
springs  for  them  to  fail  to  profit  by  them ;  and  here  they 
had,  quite  at  home,  their  mineral  and  their  sea  baths. 

The  Traveller:  The  Romans  never  knew  how 
fortunate  they  were  not  to  have  to  decide,  every  sum- 
mer, between  Aix  or  Trouville! 

The  Man  of  Letters  :  It  would  be  rather  venture- 
some to  tell  you  exactly  where  those  villas  stood.  We 
know  that  Antony  chose  Miseno,  that  Cicero  resided 


TEA  AT  THE  VILLA  OF  LUCULLUS  347 

between  Lucrino  and  Avernus,  over  there  where 
Monte  Nuovo  stands;  and  that  Hortensius  and  Pom- 
pey  were  at  Bauli,  Crassus  and  Piso  at  Baia.  Where 
precisely?  Fix  that  for  yourself.  Look  out  on  the 
smooth  bosom  of  this  round  bit  of  sea,  so  sparkling  and 
so  gentle,  let  your  eye  follow  the  girdle  of  its  shore,  and 
people  it  with  houses  much  as  today  the  banks  of  Lake 
Leman.   .    .    . 

The  Traveller  :    You  are  hard  on  Baia. 

The  Man  of  Letters  :  After  the  Civil  Wars,  most 
of  these  villas  became  imperial  property.  The  court 
was  brought  here.  Nero  gave  to  these  shores  their 
greatest  splendour.  His  palace  rose  upon  the  point 
you  see  separating  Bacoli  from  Baia,  where  today 
stands  the  Palace  of  the  Viceroys ;  and,  just  as  he  would 
unite  Avernus  with  the  Tiber,  Nero  wished  to  unite 
Miseno  with  Avernus  by  a  colonnade  running  along  the 
beach.     It  was  there  that  Hadrian  died. 

The  Traveller:  Excuse  me,  but  I  am  thinking 
less  of  those  emperors  than  of  Coelius  and  of  Clodia, 
that  young  son  of  good  family  and  the  widow  of  aristo- 
cratic birth  floating  upon  these  waters  among  the 
small  boats  filled  with  musicians.  And  Catullus, 
upon  the  shore,  rhymed  his  verses  to  Lesbia  with  all 
the  satisfaction  and  the  freedom  which  usually  char- 
acterizes the  happiest  one  of  the  three.  But  Clodia, 
was  she  Lesbia? 


348  A    FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

The  Man  of  Letters:     Probably. 

The  Scholar:  Anjrway,  Fiammetta  certainly  was 
the  daughter  of  Robert,  King  of  Naples.  Boccaccio, 
sent  to  Naples  by  his  father  to  learn  the  ways  of  com- 
merce, met,  at  San  Lorenzo,  the  Princess  Maria  whom 
he  immortalized  tmder  the  name  of  Fiammetta.  And 
it  was  to  Baia  they  came  to  find  shelter  for  their  love. 

The  Man  of  Letters:  Baia  continued  through 
the  centuries  the  mission  confided  to  her  by  the  little 
god  of  love  who,  so  says  a  Greek  epigram,  while  bath- 
ing one  day  in  the  waters  of  Baia,  let  fall  his  torch; 
and  since  that  time  they  inflame  any  one  who  plunges 
into  them. 

The  Scholar  :  Read  the  letters  of  Seneca  of  which 
we  have  already  spoken,  Martialis,  Juvenal,  Proper- 
tius.   .    .    . 

The  Man  of  Letters  :  And  Virgil,  O  Peppino,  who 
tells  us  that  Marcellus  died  here,  in  Caesar's  villa? 

The  Scholar:  Yes,  Paolo;  I  am  encroaching  upon 
your  domain  of  letters !  Excuse  me .  All  the  art  and  all 
the  lust  that  infiltrated  into  the  Roman  Empire  from 
the  Greek  and  Asiatic  world  flourished  intensely  at 
Baia,  around  the  harbour  embowered  in  roses  and  upon 
whose  waves  rode  the  boats  filled  with  gallant  compan- 
ies. Think  that  the  tanks  of  Hirrius  furnished,  at  one 
time,  six  hundred  miiraena  for  the  triumphal  banquet 
of  Caesar;  the  mxiraena  still  famous  at  Naples  where 


TEA  AT  THE  VILLA  OF  LUCULLUS  349 

their  delicate,  milky  flesh,  covered  with  a  strange  skin 
that  looks  like  marble  and  seems  like  a  souvenir  of 
their  ancient  glory,  is  still  the  ornament  and  delicacy 
of  any  feast.  You  remember  how  celebrated  were  the 
fish-ponds  of  the  Flaviani  who  gave  their  name  to  the 
muraena  and  gave  them  on  the  end  of  their  fingers 
to  their  guests  to  eat,  according  to  the  testimony  of 
Pliny  and  Martialis. 

The  Traveller:  Was  it  not  Martialis  who  said: 
"She  who  comes  to  Baia  Penelope,  leaves  it  Helen"? 
And  what  was  that  imprecation  of  Seneca  to  Lucilitis: 
"Baia,  the  rendezvous  of  the  vices,  where  debauch 
allows  itself  every  satisfaction,  where  fast  living  is  so 
general  that  licence  seems  but  the  tribute  due  the 
place!" 

The  Man  of  Letters  :  Let  us  not  exaggerate  any 
further  the  excesses  of  the  poets  and  philosophers. 
The  satirists  and  the  moralists  rather  abuse  us  in  the 
matter  of  the  voluptuosity  of  the  Romans.  Although 
the  world  moves,  man  does  not  change.  He  is  neither 
better,  nor  worse,  than  formerly.  The  proof  that 
Penelope  could  very  well  keep  her  faith  at  Baia  is  ia 
the  fact  that  Pliny  lived  there  with  his  sister. 

The  Traveller:    Where  was  Pliny's  villa? 

The  Man  of  Letters:    We  may  guess. 

The  Traveller:    That  is  exciting.   .    .    . 

The  Scholar  :    We  do  not  even  know  by  what  way 


350  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Pliny  the  Younger  escaped  from  Pompeii  the  day  of 
the  raining  ashes.  He  speaks  of  the  country  where  the 
crowd  became  lost  in  the  night.  That  could  only  be 
on  the  waste  land  behind  the  lagoon  of  Licola;  and 
that  was  a  long  way  off. 

The  Traveller:  Well,  then,  Peppino,  tell  me 
what  is  that  great  ruin,  rather,  those  great  ruins  seen 
at  Baia,  round  in  form,  vaulted,  in  fact,  in  every  re- 
spect resembling  the  Minerva  Medica  in  Rome. 

The  Scholar  :  The  one  rising  near  the  sea  is  called 
the  Temple  of  Venus;  the  other,  above  the  railway 
station,  the  Temple  of  Diana.  Half  of  the  superb 
masses  sustaining  the  vaulting  in  the  Temple  of  Diana 
still  exist,  as  you  have  seen,  whereas  in  the  Temple  of 
Venus,  they  have  been  replaced  by  wild  fig  trees.  It 
is  probable  that  these  constructions  were  part  of  the 
hot  spring  baths.  You  know,  the  entire  hill  beneath 
the  houses  and  the  vineyards  is  full  of  ancient  sub- 
structures. The  ruins  extend  as  far  as  under  the  Span- 
ish Castle  and  quite  into  the  sea.  And  think  how 
the  extraction  of  the  pozzolana  (for  making  cement) 
has  modified  the  aspect  before  us.  Have  you  noticed 
that  important  quarry  at  the  very  foot  of  the  chateau? 

The  Traveller:  Do  not  think  that  a  traveller 
cannot  reconstruct  for  himself  a  landscape  which  men 
have  stolen  from  him?  Difficult  as  it  has  been,  I  have 
been  able  to  suppress  that  Monte  Nuovo,  for  instance, 


TEA  AT  THE  VILLA  OF  LUCULLUS  351 

that  I  see  above  Lake  Lucrino,  and,  with  a  similar 
force  of  imagination,  I  have  rebuilt  these  shores  with 
their  line  of  villas,  rounded  out  that  colonnade  along 
the  beach,  and  I  am  now  crowning  the  hills  with  all 
the  chalets.   .    .    . 

The  Man  of  Letters:  Chalet  is  going  it  a  little 
rapidly.  But  if  you  wish  to  be  in  ancient  Baia,  you 
must  rearrange  it.  A  watering  place  was  Baia  of  old, 
nothing  more. 

The  Traveller  :  Is  there  precise  knowledge  of  the 
construction  of  the  Romans'  seaside  houses? 

The  Man  of  Letters:  Pompeii  might  guide  us; 
but  Pompeii  was  a  city.  There  must  have  been  more 
individual  fantasy  at  Baia.  There  was  more  space, 
also,  and  the  waters  themselves  were  taken  into  con- 
sidjeration.  Cicero  is  still  our  most  important  guide. 
He  built  his  house  in  the  midst  of  the  domain  he 
bought  here  in  the  year  56  B.C.  He  wrote  to  Quintus 
that  his  architect  had  a  genius  full  of  originality,  and 
the  villa  had  its  fantastic  surprises.  Pliny,  in  his 
time,  praised  the  grove,  and  there  was  a  gallery  for 
strolling  either  in  the  sunshine  or  in  the  shade,  like  the 
Poecile  of  Hadrian's  villa,  no  doubt.  As  for  the  pas- 
times here,  I  refer  you  to  one  of  your  compatriots 
Traveller,  M.  Charles  Dubois,  whose  Pouzzoles  antique 
you  will  find  worth  reading.  Cicero  took  refuge 
here  after  the  death  of  Caesar  and  here  received  Oc- 


352  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

tavius  who  came  to  reap  the  heritage  of  his  father. 
At  length,  Cicero  left  here  for  the  last  lap  in  his  life's 
race,  when,  fleeing  from  Rome,  he  did  not  know  where 
to  hide  from  the  vengeance  of  the  Triumvirs.  We  see 
him  at  Arpinum,  at  Tusculum,  at  Pompeii,  at  Nisida, 
where  he  is  on  the  point  of  embarking,  with  Brutus, 
who  had  found  refuge  on  that  island,  in  the  villa  of 
LucuUus.  But  it  was  too  hard  to  tear  himself  away 
for  ever  from  a  place  so  charming.  Cicero  was  senti- 
mental, and  that  cost  him  everything.  He  returned 
to  Rome,  re-entered  the  struggle,  composed  the  Philip- 
pics, and  ran  away  again,  to  fall  at  Formiae. 

The  Traveller  :     Does  nothing  of  his  villa  remain  ? 

The  Scholar  :  You  must  look  for  it  under  Monte 
Nuovo,  for  it  stood  there.  At  the  same  time,  you 
might  find  the  tomb  of  Hadrian;  he  was  buried  in 
Cicero's  garden,  which  had  become  a  public  park. 

The  Traveller.  Do  we  not  know  how  these 
houses  were  built  ? 

The  Man  of  Letters  :  Pliny  the  Younger  has  left 
us  a  precious  docimient  in  his  description  of  the  villa 
at  Laurentiun,  where  stands  today  Tor  Patemo,  near 
Ostia.  As  Laurentum  was  a  seaside  city,  it  probably 
resembled  those  of  this  region.  You  remember  the 
long  description.  .    .    . 

The  Traveller  :    Often  obscure. 

The  Man  of  Letters  :    That  is  because  it  was  not 


TEA  AT  THE  VILLA  OF  LUCULLUS  353 

written  for  us.  There  was  the  portico  rounded  out  in 
the  form  of  a  D  upon  the  front,  covered  with  a  roof 
and  enclosed  in  glass.   .    .    . 

The  Traveller:     Our  veranda. 

The  Man  of  Letters  :  A  wing  on  one  side  was  the 
dining-room  extending  toward  the  sea  and  looking 
upon  it,  with  many  windows  and  doors.  On  the  other 
side  the  principal  features  were  the  main  doorway 
and  the  atrium.  We  can  easily  picture  to  ourselves, 
here  as  well  as  anywhere,  the  Roman  house  with  the 
atrium,  the  peristylium,  the  portico  in  the  form  of  a 
D,  the  triclinium  at  the  end  of  the  peristylium,  and  the 
inextricable  confusion  of  rooms  of  all  forms  and  all 
sizes  for  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night  and  for  every 
function.  Then,  there  were  hot  baths,  cold  baths, 
tennis-court,  and  the  garden,  the  work  of  an  architect, 
like  the  house,  and  containing  another  building  for 
those  who  did  not  care  to  live  too  near  the  waves.  We 
may  be  sure  that  the  refinement  of  arrangement,  of 
decoration,  and  of  furnishing  was  great,  and  that  not 
even  the  richest  men  of  our  day  would  ever  dare  to 
build  a  Laurentum  villa. 

The  Traveller  :  It  is  not  a  question  of  daring,  but 
of  being  able .  The  suppression  of  slavery  has  been  fatal 
to  the  comfort  of  certain  folk.  How  fertile  is  the  bosom 
of  Baia  in  all  sorts  of  souvenirs  and  all  philosophies! 

The  Man  of  Letters  :     That  is  because  it  was,  at 


354  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

one  moment,  the  centre  of  the  world.  Wait  a  moment, 
is  it  not  that  point  there,  on  our  left, — don't  you  see 
the  phantom — where  Nero  caused  to  be  opened  the 
vessel  which  brought  Agrippina  ?  These  tranquil  and 
brilliant  waters  have  beaten  against  the  villas  of 
emperors  and  carried  their  crimes. 

The  Scholar:  As  for  myself,  I  always  see  riding 
here  Pompey's  galley,  the  one  that  Shakespeare  shows 
us  in  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  anchored  under  Miseno 
for  the  feast  to  which  are  invited  Caesar,  Antony, 
Lepidus,  Agrippa,  Mecaenas,  Enobarbus,  Menas,  and 
other  captains,  that  feast  of  the  six  hundred  muraena. 
While  Antony,  to  the  amusement  of  the  others,  teases 
Lepidus,  already  drunk,  by  describing  to  him  the 
crocodiles  of  the  Nile,  Menas  draws  Pompey  apart, 
and,  pointing  to  his  guests,  tells  him  with  what  ease  he 
might  become  lord  of  all  the  world  by  the  simple  act 
of  cutting  the  cables  that  hold  the  vessel  to  her  anchors 
and  drifting  away  from  shore;  once  at  sea,  nothing 
would  be  necessary  but  to  massacre  the  Triumvirs. 
And  Pompey,  who  was  always  paralyzed  by  a  certain 
honesty,  exclaimed: 

"Ah,  this  thou  should'st  have  done 
And  not  have  spoke  on't. 

In  me  'tis  villany: 
In  thee  it  had  been  good  service.     Thou  must  know, 


TEA  AT  THE  VILLA  OF  LUCULLUS  355 

'Tis  not  my  profit  that  does  lead  mine  honour; 
Mine  honour  it.     Repent  that  e'er  thy  tongue 
Hath  so  betray'd  thine  act ;  being  done  unknown, 
I  should  have  found  it  afterwards  well  done; 
But  must  condemn  it  now.     Desist  and  drink." 

The  banquet  continued  upon  the  waters  of  Miseno, 
and  the  guests,  without  leaving  the  ship,  went  directly 
on  toward  their  bloody  destiny,  Caesar  toward  the 
mastery  of  the  world  and  the  brilliant  flash  of  the 
Roman  Empire. 

The  Man  of  Letters:  Never  forget.  Traveller, 
that  from  the  Cape  of  Miseno  you  see  all  Rome  in 
her  virtue  as  well  as  in  her  vices.  This  bay  was  the 
Roman  sea  par  excellence,  Pozzuoli  being  the  commer- 
cial waters,  Miseno  the  military  port,  and  Baia  the 
fashionable  resort. 

The  Traveller  :  Let  us  drink,  then,  as  did  Menas. 
And  afterwards,  let  us  pay  our  respects  to  the  Arm- 
strong steel  works  on  the  shore  below  where  are  made 
the  marine  monsters  upon  which  modem  Italy  bases 
her  prestige.  The  world  turns  on  itself,  Peppino, 
since  here,  under  Miseno,  the  great  Latin  fleet  has 
gathered  once  again. 

The  three  friends  drank  another  draught  of  the 
memorable  wine,  and,  after  the  exchange  of  necessary 


356  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

words,  each  fell  into  the  dream  common  to  them  all. 
Three  sons  of  Rome  of  one  accord.  Evening  ap- 
proached and  the  bay,  lighted  obliquely  by  the  sun 
setting  behind  the  heights,  gradually  was  enveloped 
in  green  shadow.  The  Castle  of  Baia  looked  at  its 
image  in  the  depths  of  the  waters  below  it,  like  Nero 
searching  for  the  body  of  Agrippina.  The  Temple  of 
Venus  waved  her  wild  fig  trees  still  bathed  in  sunlight. 
The  Baths  of  Nero  yawned  in  the  evening  freshness. 
Against  the  cumulus  clouds  was  outlined  Monte  Nuovo 
where  Cicero's  memory  sleeps.  The  beach  of  Poz- 
zuoli  draws  out  its  yellow  ribbon  and  all  its  ruins  and 
hovels  shine  brilliantly.  On  the  right  Nisida  and 
Posillipo  hide  radiant  Naples,  but  Vesuvius  stands 
wrapped  in  her  rose  colour  scarfs.  There  was  not  a 
detail  of  it  all  that  the  three  friends  did  not  enjoy  to- 
gether. Cicero  and  Csesar  joining  their  hands,  united 
their  lives,  minds,  and  hearts. 


Alinari 


Castle  of  Baia 


Brogi 


The  Capo  Miseno  with  the  Mare  Morto  on  One  Side  and  the  Bay  of  Baia 

on  the  Other 


^53*         ■           . 

S"^^-. 

=5 

P_ 

!^^4 

..,  ^ 

m 

;.'-■■.  -1- 

>.  *   . 

Sommer 


Lake  Fusaro 


Author 


The  Acropolis  of  Cumae 


0       12        3 


FourteentK  Day 


WITH  THE  SIBYL 

Cxixnee,  LaKe  -A.vern\as 

AN  you  tell  me,  Peppino,  you  who  are 
a  professor  of  geography,  on  which 
bank  of  the  Styx,  left  or  right,  were 
situate  the  Infernal  Regions?" 
Peppino  was  silent .  He,  who  knows 
everything  of  the  configuration  of  the  earth,  is  speech- 
less before  the  abyss.  He  has  scrutinized  them,  how- 
ever, for  no  one  knows  so  well  as  he  the  Phlegraean 
strata ;  but  he  has  sounded  them  with  the  plummet  only. 
He  has  never  learned  where  Charon's  ferryboat  was 
moored.  And  he  answered  my  question  with  another: 
"Where  is  your  black  dog  and  where  are  your  sterile 
heifers?" 

357 


358  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

I  am  unable  to  reply  and  confess  that  I  had  not 
thought  of  supplying  myself  with  the  victims  that 
might  win  the  favour  of  Proserpine  when  we  went 
to  find  the  golden  branch  in  the  forest  of  Avemus. 
Peppino  is  my  Sibyl,  and  I  have  done  none  of  the 
things  he  has  advised  me  to  do  in  view  of  the  under- 
taking that  carries  us  today  towards  the  heights  of 
Cumae  and  the  depths  of  Avemus. 

"  You  need  not  feel  too  much  regret  over  your  negli- 
gence," Peppino  resumed;  "for,  at  this  season  of  the 
year,  the  openings  to  the  Infernal  Regions  are  full  of 
brambles.  If  we  should  go  in,  it  would  only  be  to 
come  out  in  rags  as  beggarly  as  were  those  of  Antis- 
thenes." 

"And  we  are  enemies  of  all  affectation." 

So  we  play  lightly  to  hold  in  check  the  eagerness 
which  makes  me  restless  with  the  slow  steps  of  our 
horse.  We  have  left  the  train  at  Baia,  Signor  Giu- 
seppe de  Lorenzo,  poet  of  the  Campi  Flegrei,  and  I, 
and  are  slowly  ascending  the  hill  behind  the  Temple  of 
Diana,  on  the  summit  of  which  the  pick,  in  making  the 
road,  has  crumbled  substructures  laid  here  by  the 
Romans.  The  earth  is  full  of  Roman  remains  in  this 
region,  and  in  that  toward  which  we  are  driving, 
Cumae,  are  innumerable  traces  of  the  Greeks.  That 
is  why  I  am  going  there :  to  find  the  source. 

The  hill  crossed,  we  descend  towards  the  Lake  of 


WITH  THE  SIBYL  359 


Fusaro,  a  lagoon  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  closed, 
on  the  sea  side,  by  a  grove  of  pines.  The  white  road 
hugs  the  side  of  the  pineta  and  borders,  upon  the  right, 
the  slopes  covered  with  vineyards,  and  then  it  crosses 
the  waste  land  which  separates  the  lake  from  the  rock 
of  Cumae,  following  on  in  the  desert  to  and  around  the 
Licola  lagoon,  that,  also,  bordered  by  a  pineta.  Be- 
tween the  two  lagoons  and  the  two  pine  groves,  the 
Acropolis  of  Cumae  rises  above  the  sea  in  the  midst  of 
this  long  and  narrow  beach  barred  by  pines  where  the 
King's  boars  fatten  undisturbed.  We  have  left  our 
carriage  by  the  roadside  to  strike  up  across  the  vine- 
yards. It  is  the  first  time  in  the  immediate  neighbotir- 
.hood  of  Naples  that  I  have  had  the  feeling  of  the  happy 
Campania  which  Frederick  II.  rated  so  high  above  the 
Promised  Land  as  he  found  it.  We  see  all  its  fertility 
as  we  cross  these  fields:  first  of  all,  the  grapevines, 
still  short  but  the  poles  set  up  to  hold  them,  show  us 
how  tall  they  will  grow  in  a  short  time.  We  are  in  a 
forest  of  sticks  eight  to  nine  yards  high.  Do  you 
remember  the  army  of  lancers  in  the  old  engravings 
of  Mark  Antony  and  his  hosts?  We  are  marching  in 
their  ranks.  In  the  autumn,  bunches  of  grapes  hang 
from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  these  giants'  thyrsi. 
They  will  be  in  reach  of  the  passing  hand,  which  dis- 
dains to  steal  a  fruit  so  abundant  and  full  of  confidence. 
Upon  the  very  highroad  the  branches  hold  out  their 


36o  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

golden  grapes  from  the  brilliant  hedges  under  whose 
shadow  the  wayfarer  rests  from  the  burning  sun.  This 
is  not  all:  between  every  two  of  the  vine  stocks,  grow 
other  two  and  sometimes  three  harvests.  Today  the 
silvered  leaf  of  the  bean-vine  or  the  pale  green  of  the 
pea  weave  their  garlands  between  the  tall  poles  of 
the  pioppi. '  In  a  few  weeks  the  beans  will  be  gathered 
and  potatoes  will  be  planted  in  their  places,  and,  if 
the  season  is  early,  yet  other  vegetables  or  fruit  will 
succeed  them.  You  can  believe  it  when  you  see  how 
rich  and  thick  and  heavy  is  this  warm  red  earth.  It 
has  been  made  by  centuries  of  flames,  not  without 
suffering,  but  it  now  has  its  reward. 

Gradually,  however,  we  leave  the  fields  below  us  and 
climb  up  the  rock  in  the  midst  of  a  wild  vegetation 
that  is  yet  more  luxurious  than  that,  under  cultivation. 
At  every  step  our  path  runs  into  bushes  which  even 
Moses  could  not  have  penetrated.  All  the  bindweed 
and  brambles  of  creation  seem  to  wish  to  prevent  our 
passing  on — as  if  we  were  bringing  progress  and  good 
fortune  to  this  obstinate  and  benighted  region.     We 

»  The  slender  poplar  tree  which  the  Italians  pollard  into  a 
round  top  of  open  branches,  often  like  a  huge  basket,  upon  which 
the  young  wood  of  each  new  growth  of  the  grapevine  (cut  back 
after  every  vintage  usually  to  within  one  long  shoot  and  two 
short  ones — "three  eyes"  of  the  stock)  spreads  out  to  catch 
the  sun,  branches  \  being  carried  in  festoons  from  one  tree  to 
another. — H.  G. 


WITH  THE  SIBYL  361 

turn  the  left  flank  of  the  rock  and  upon  our  right, 
stones  are  heaped  up  in  a  mound,  mingled  from  time 
to  time  with  the  remains  of  ancient  walls  made,  with- 
out cement,  of  long  flat  stones,  dishevelled  with  wild 
bushes,  broom,  and  cactus  which  wave  like  plumes. 
We  were  making  one  of  our  frequent  detours,  when  my 
guide  halted  before  a  sort  of  hole  in  a  quarry,  half 
covered  with  sand  and  around  which  wayward 
branches  form  a  pleasing  frame.  The  hole  seems  to  go 
down  into  the  earth ;  it  is  lost  in  blackness,  and  we  see 
nothing  but  the  cuts,  always  the  same  in  this  country 
of  the  Greeks,  in  the  shape  of  long  slices.  Between 
this,  grotto  of  the  Sibyl  and  the  Catacombs  of 
Naples  and  the  Latomie  of  Syracuse,  the  only  differ- 
ence is  in  the  size  of  things.  But  let  us  think  of  the 
reality  of  this  place  before  which  we  stand  as  stood 
Virgil  in  his  day ;  let  us  remember  that  this  cave  was 
then  rustling  with  a  thousand  wonders  and  with  an 
entire  history ;  that  the  Roman  poet  saw  it  such  as  it 
had  long  been  and  such  as  it  has  remained  for  us.  Per- 
haps the  Temple  of  Apollo  was  still  in  existence,  but 
the  wings  of  Daedalus  were  not.  Agrigente  had  long 
before  conquered  the  right  to  possess  them.  And  the 
old  Sibyl  was  already  in  her  last  sleep. 

"Here,  Peppino,  you  can  realize  the  sense  of  time. 
'  Leaning  over  the  web  of  life,  the  Sibyl  of  Cumse,  on 
the  vaulting  of  the  Sistine,  shows  a  face  ravaged  by  the 


362  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

wrinkles  of  time,  which  are  the  fissures  in  the  earth  it- 
self. She  is  absorbed  still,  with  all  her  thoughts  and 
all  her  cares,  in  the  immense  suffering  of  life  of  which 
her  great  neighbour,  the  Sibyl  of  Delphi,  is  now  almost 
free,  she  whose  eyes  are  as  radiant  as  two  suns,  reflect- 
ing the  shining  light  of  Apollo.'  This  excellent  lyric 
poetry  is  yours,  Peppino;  it  is  from  you  who,  young, 
like  the  Delphic  prophetess,  still  brood  untiringly,  like 
her  Cumaean  sister,  over  the  immense  suffering  of  life 
and  the  fissures  in  the  earth." 

"You  know  that  the  cult  of  prophecy  was  not  exer- 
cised at  Cumae  alone.  Demeter  was  honoured,  also, 
and,  above  all,  Olympian  Zeus  whose  bust  you  saw 
at  the  Naples  Museum.  The  entire  Greek  life,  not  a 
magic  art  alone,  throbbed  at  Cumae.  Virgil  was  a 
little  mistaken  in  his  view  of  the  antique  Cumae — to- 
ward which  we  must  continue  to  climb,  if  you  would 
like  to  go  there." 

If  I  would  like  to!  We  labour  up  the  rock,  and  the 
stones  growing  sharper  and  sharper  tell  me  that  we 
are  nearing  the  summit.  At  length  we  are  here.  A 
broad  platform  of  rock  with  no  other  vegetation  than 
a  few  weeds,  such  is  the  Acropolis  of  Cumae.  The  re- 
cent excavations  have  not  changed  its  purely  natural 
aspect.  Upon  the  left  lie  the  peninsula  of  the  moun- 
tains of  Salvatichi  and  Procida,  Procida  itself,  Ischia, 
and,  farther  on,  behind  the  others,  Capri  and  the 


WITH  THE  SIBYL  363 

heights  of  Sorrento,  in  fact  all  the  bay  to  which  we 
seem  to  be  attached  by  the  thread  of  the  pineta  of 
Fusano.  To  the  right,  we  see  nothing  but  the  disap- 
pearing of  the  dunes  of  Licola  as  far  as  the  mouths  of 
the  River  Volturno,  and,  far,  far  away,  the  rock  of 
Gaeta,  the  cape  of  Monte  Circeo,  too.  Behind  us,  on 
the  undulating  lower  land  once  lay  the  city  of  Cumae  in 
the  shelter  of  her  citadel,  between  that  and  what  is 
now  called  Monte  Grillo  (Cricket  Mountain),  nourish- 
ing the  Greek  civilization  with  which  Rome  was  to 
become  intoxicated,  throwing  at  Cumse  Virgil's  in- 
sult: Sic  vos  non  vohis  mellificatis,  apes!  No  one  who 
has  in  him  the  Greco-Latin  heart  can  look  upon  this 
landscape  without  a  thrill  in  every  fibre  of  his  being. 
The  emotion  that  I  felt  in  the  Roman  Forum  moves 
me  again  here,  purified,  coming  from  greater  distance, 
but  with  no  intermediary.  To  all  who  continue  to 
be  interested  in  Tarquin  and  the  Sibylline  books,  this 
rock  will  always  be  sacred.  It  is  blessed  among  all  and 
before  all  to  those  who  follow  up  the  outpourings  of  the 
Greek  stream  over  Europe  even  to  its  source. 

"Is  it  really  on  this  rock,  Peppino,  that  the  first 
Greeks  who  landed  in  Italy  took  refuge  ?  I  admit  that 
I  should  like  to  think  that  Ulysses,  following  the  ex- 
ample of  iEneas  and  leaving  some  of  his  Trojans  at 
Segesta,  had  landed  five  or  six  of  his  Achseans  on  the 
Cumaean  shore." 


364  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

"  Do  not  ask  Science  to  confirm  your  dreams,  Trav- 
eller. You  are  always  saying :  Poetry  first.  Tome 
Poetry  is  born  of  Science.  It  was  only  after  I  had 
done  all  that  I  could  do  to  make  sure  against  error  that 
I  allowed  myself  to  dally  with  the  Sibyls.  Great  as  is 
my  desire  to  indulge  our  common  tenderness  for  Poet- 
ry, I  am  conscience  bound  to  make  some  distinctions. 
Yes,  the  Hellenes  came  to  land  in  Italy  on  the  shore  of 
this  bay  a  thousand  years  before  Jesus  Christ.  Some 
landed  at  Capri  and  Sorrento,  others  at  Ischia  and  at 
Cumae.  They  were  reunited  in  the  bosom  of  Par- 
thenope  who  united  the  sister  races  and  mingled  them 
with  the  autochthonic  races  of  the  Osci  and  the  Etrus- 
cans. Of  all  the  Greek  colonies,  sown  in  a  crown 
around  this  maternal  bay,  to  whom  we  Latins  owe  all 
the  beauty  which  has  enchanted  our  lives,  Cumae  is  the 
most  ancient.  It  constituted,  however,  but  a  second- 
ary stage  in  the  progress  of  its  settlers,  for  the  Chalcid- 
ians  first  landed  at  Ischia.  But,  at  that  epoch,  Ischia, 
although  quite  formed,  too  often  trembled  with  the 
fires  that  had  thrown  it  up  from  the  bed  of  the  sea  to 
be  considered  a  satisfactory  refuge  by  men  who  were 
in  search  of  peace.  They  saw  the  mainland  quiet, 
covered  with  virgin  fields,  while  the  rock  on  which 
we  are  seated  was  favourable  for  a  citadel.  So 
they  crossed  the  water  between  them  and  this, 
founded  Cumae,  and,  lance  in  their  grasp,  like  the 


IKmSS^'^'"'  rtM^m 

j 

4d^^^^^^mml^^^^^m 

Alinari 


The  Castle  of  Alfonso  of  Aragon,  Ischia 


Alinari 


The  Arco  Felice,  on  the  Way  to  Cxunae 


WITH  THE  SIBYL  365 

Doryphorus  of  Polycletes,  they  won  the  surrounding 
land." 

"This  Acropolis  is,  then,  that  of  the  Greeks?" 
"You  know  very  well  that  the  world  never  stops, 
least  ot  all  here.  Yet  one  may  say  that  the  aspect  of 
this  rock  does  not  differ  now  from  that  which  it  had  in 
the  epoch  of  the  Chalcidians.  The  world  changes,  but 
slowly.  This  rock  is  but  the  last  remains  of  an  extinct 
volcano,  a  volcano  which  has  finished  its  vomitings; 
its  trachyte  lava  and  its  black  lava,  scoria,  pumice,  its 
lava  gravel  and  cinders  which  today  conglomerated 
into  grey  tufa  lie  spread  over  the  first  layers  of  lava 
on  the  western  side  of  us,  while  on  the  eastern  side, 
they  have  become  incorporated  into  the  characteristic 
yellow  lava  of  the  Phlegraean  Fields  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  forms  the  cave  of  the  Sibyl.  All  this  eruptive 
matter  of  the  ancient  volcano  has  been  nibbled  and 
levelled  by  the  atmospheric  agents  and  by  the  waters 
of  the  sea  in  such  a  way  that  a  thousand  years  before 
Christ  it  was  reduced  to  what  we  see  today.  On  the 
other  hand,  when  the  Greeks  landed  at  Cumae  they  did 
not  see  the  lagoons  which  afterwards  received  the 
names  of  Elysium  and  of  Acheron  and  which  are  called 
the  Mare  Morto,  Fusaro,  Licola,  Patria.  In  their  day 
the  level  of  the  sea  was  eighteen  to  twenty  feet  below  the 
present  level.  The  downward  slope  of  the  ground  was 
then  more  gradual ;  the  waters  of  the  land  ran  more 


366  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

easily  to  the  sea.  The  lowered  coast,  imprisoned  be- 
tween the  dunes  and  the  marshes,  is  rich  in  fish  and 
shell-fish,  fertile  in  mosquitoes  and  malaria.  In  the 
time  of  the  Greeks  the  goddess  Fever  did  not  reign 
upon  the  beach  which  lies  at  our  feet  and  which,  cov- 
ered with  woods  and  bushes,  was  but  a  part  of  the 
Phlegraean  Fields." 

"How  could  a  maritime  people  manage  their  com- 
merce on  this  long  coast  without  sheltering  port  or 
breakwater?" 

"They  had  no  choice,  since  the  remainder  of  the 
shore  was  occupied.  That  gives  you  an  opportunity 
to  admire  the  power  of  geography!  The  earth  rules 
her  colonists,  and  the  Chalcidian  sailors  became  Cu- 
maean  farmers,  quite  like  the  aborigines  who  lived 
still,  at  that  epoch,  in  their  caves  between  Cumae  and 
Avemus  and  from  which  they  issued  only  at  the  set- 
ting of  the  sun.  These  beast-men  knew  the  future  and 
foretold  events.  It  is  said  that  they  had  the  Sibylline 
books  which  Augustus  made  arise  from  their  ashes,  as 
Horace  tells  us.  The  Greeks  received  them  and  trans- 
mitted them,  and  with  them,  their  own  books  and  the 
legends  that  they  had  brought  with  them  from  Chalcis, 
thus  mingling  the  Asiatic  metaphysics  with  the  Euro- 
pean, all  spouting  together  from  the  bosom  of  the 
earth,  mingled  with  the  subterranean  gases,  moles, 
rats,serpents,and  all  the  animals  consecrated  to  Apollo 


Sommer 


Grotto  of  the  Sibyl,  Lake  Avemus 


Author 


Lake  Avemus 


368  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Baia,  still  gave  Cumas  a  certain  military  importance. 
It  declined,  however,  and,  in  1205,  the  Neapolitans 
made  of  it  a  desert." 

It  is,  indeed,  a  desert.  Nothing  lies  around  us  but 
waste  land,  dunes,  pine  trees,  and  marsh.  We  have 
come  down  from  the  rock  to  the  beach  whereon 
Ulysses  and  -^neas  ran  into  their  prows — Ulysses  and 
iEneas  representing  the  civilizing  races  of  these  shores. 
In  the  sand  and  among  the  bushes,  we  walk  around  the 
rock  which  rises  sheer  to  the  summit,  untakable  still. 
The  house  of  the  King's  gamekeeper  alone  peoples 
these  solitudes.  If  anything  of  Cimiae  remains,  it  is 
underground,  ruins  made  all  the  deeper  by  the  sinking 
of  the  shore.  Under  the  shadow  of  the  rock,  we  regain 
the  fields  covered  with  grapevines,  seeking  in  vain 
something  that  may  remind  us  of  the  time,  fortunate 
for  us,  when  Greece  set  some  of  her  vines  agrowing 
here.  There  is  nothing,  and  there  is  everything :  all 
the  memories,  all  the  emotions;  and  all  the  treasures 
of  human  intelligence ! 

Back  in  our  carriage,  we  are  now  making  our  way 
up  towards  the  Arco  Felice  which  was  cut  through  the 
mountain  for  the  Via  Domiziana,  called,  under  the 
Republic,  Via  Littoranea,  the  road  which  unites 
Pozzuoli  to  Cumae  and  to  Rome.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  present  road  is  not  precisely  over  that  of  the  Ro- 
mans up  to  the  southern  face  of  the  arch.    We  see  it 


WITH  THE  SIBYL  369 


on  our  left,  descending  rapidly  in  the  bed  of  a  torrent 
in  the  fields  where  we  lose  it  for  a  time,  finding  it 
again  in  front  of  the  Arco  Felice.  As  I  look  at  this 
gigantic,  not  to  say  magnificent  work,  I  am  reminded 
that  there  remains  to  us  only  the  most  solid  of  all  the 
works  done  by  the  Romans.  It  seems  impossible  to 
think  that  the  hands  that  were  strong  enough  to  build 
this  could  have  done  any  finer  work,  yet  they  were 
capable  of  delicacy.  We  find  here,  too,  in  some  of 
the  smallest  details,  the  signature  of  majesty.  For 
instance,  the  height  of  this  tunnel  might  have  been 
economized ;  it  is  sixty-three  feet  high  by  eighteen  wide, 
a  proportional  height  that  gives  it  nobility  and  vigour. 
Note,  also,  the  interior  lining  of  brick.  It  is  difficult 
to  say  just  what  it  is  one  sees  of  the  strong,  rude  trowel 
that  laid  these  squares  of  terra  cotta  in  the  manner  m 
which  they  are  arranged,  one  over  the  other,  in  an  or- 
der that  is  both  scattered  and  logical.  The  pavement 
which  we  tread  is  the  ancient  one,  washed  by  the  cen- 
turies, yet  retaining  its  physiognomy  of  things  massive 
without  being  gross;  strong,  but  not  heavy.  Every- 
thing that  came  out  of  those  Roman  fingers  was  colos- 
sal with  a  noble  aspect.  That  was  racial,  from  the 
general  attitude,  seen  in  a  gesture,  heard  in  a  tone. 
How  light  this  Arco  Felice  is,  as  light  as  I  remember 
now  to  have  seen  it  from  the  heights  of  Cimiae.  It 
looked  like  a  window  in  a  dismantled  castle,  and  I 


370  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

admired  its  slim  grace  from  the  top  of  the  white  road, 
under  the  weight  of  the  rock,  though  it  was  as  light  as 
it  appeared  above  the  fields  where  Cumas,  at  the  base 
of  her  Acropolis, still  lies  buried;  above  the  undulations 
of  the  Phlegraean  hills,  and,  upon  its  other  face,  above 
one  of  the  most  beautiful,  perhaps  the  most  suggestive, 
of  all  the  Neapolitan  landscapes. 

In  the  distance  are  all  the  hills  of  Naples  and  Sor- 
rento, the  mauve  hump  of  Miseno,  the  hills  of  Baia, 
the  girdle  whose  illuminated  points  pierce  the  blue  of 
heaven,  rising  from  the  tender,  sparkling  azure  of  the 
sea.  Nearer  by,  on  the  left,  stands  Monte  Nuovo,  im- 
portunate, breaking  into  the  harmony;  one  sees  that 
the  shores  of  the  lake  grow  gentler  as  they  mount  to- 
ward Solfatara !  Springing  up  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
all  that  Monte  Nuovo  has  done  is  to  swallow  up  the 
villa  of  Cicero.  Not  quite  all :  it  has  broken  the  line, 
too,  hiding  Pozzuoli  which  so  admirably  finished  the 
landscape.  Monte  Gauro,  a  bit  farther  away,  on  the 
contrary,  balanced  Miseno  with  grace  and  strength. 
And  over  on  the  right,  the  curve  of  the  precipitous 
declivity  still,  but  rarely,  yields  root-hold  to  Virgil's 
mephitic  woods.  Was  it  in  their  depths  that  was 
hidden  the  golden  oar  that  must  be  found  to  obtain 
entrance  to  the  Infernal  Regions?  It  is  vain  for  us, 
as  it  was  for  ^neas,  to  enter  the  struggle  with  the 
powers  of  Ceres.     There  is  no  longer  a  Proserpine  to 


WITH  THE  SIBYL  371 

wheedle.  Ever  since  I  rowed  unpunished  upon  the 
Ciane  Brook,  I  no  longer  believe  in  Pluto,  and  the 
golden  oar  of  the  Styx  may  remain  inaccessible  for  all 
of  me.  What  should  I  do  with  it  anyway?  The  In- 
fernal Regions  can  offer  nothing  that  is  worth  it ;  the 
ponds  of  Cocytus,  Cocyti  stagna,  surely  are  not  worth 
Avemus.  Have  you  never  thought  of  the  sadness  of 
the  Infernal  shores,  reflecting  no  ray  of  the  sun  ?  But 
they  are  not  so.  Round  as  a  bowl,  at  the  bottom  of  its 
circle  of  hill-slopes,  covered  with  grapevines  and 
trees,  Avemus  attracts  to  itself  a  splendour  without 
equal  from  Helios  the  Victorious.  Here  it  is  at  my 
feet,  lying  in  its  shell,  its  green  tint  in  contrast  to  the 
blue  of  the  sea  that  is  so  far  and  yet  so  near.  Little 
wrinkles  upon  its  face  show  its  age  beside  the  foaming 
youth  of  Amphitrite.  It  makes  itself  low  and  small 
and  smoothly  level  so  that  we  may  see  in  it  all  our 
tender  feelings.  And  how  we  love  it!  Around  it  has 
grown  an  entire  mythology  which  contributes  to  the 
formation  of  a  race  spirit  of  which  we  are  proud  to  be 
the  sons.  To  us  it  is  the  old  paternal  idol.  We  no 
longer  believe  in  it  and  we  always  reverence  it.  Per- 
haps it  wins  much  of  this  admiration  from  its  appear- 
ance alone;  so  near  the  sea,  in  the  midst  of  its  hillsides, 
animated  by  the  cultivated  vines,  studded  by  happy- 
looking  villas,  outlined  by  so  firm  and  strong  a  pencil, 
this  picture  could  not  fail  to  attract  our  reverent  ad- 


372 


A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 


miration.  In  the  midst  of  the  aridity  of  the  Phlegraean 
summits,  high  above  the  luxuriance  of  the  Campania, 
it  seems  to  be  the  spring  where  the  vine  stock  takes  its 
life  for  the  miraculous  wine,  that  of  Horace  and  of 
Propertius.  Hidden  and  modest,  it  has  the  beauty  of 
things  sure  of  themselves :  the  f ruitfulness  and  the  un- 
failing smile.  The  Latin  centuries  have  drunk  of  its 
waters;  it  has  never  missed  them.  Nothing  can  ex- 
haust it,  its  hidden  springs  replenish  it  incessantly, 
and  these  sources  will  gush  forth  pure  for  us,  too,  if  we 
will  but  touch  our  own  hearts  with  the  wand  in  our 
hands  by  birthright. 

On  the  bank  of  Lucrino,  a  pond  today  separated 
from  the  sea  by  a  dyke,  reduced  to  the  appearance  of  a 
mere  basin  in  a  park  by  the  eruption  of  Monte  Nuovo, 
— on  Lucrino's  bank  we  finished  our  day  with  a  bottle 
of  Falema.  His  task  of  guide  completed,  my  friend 
Peppino  gave  himself  up  to  familiarity  with  this 
landscape  which  he  has  made  his  own.  To  keep  us 
company,  we  call  up  memories  of  our  friend  Paolo, 
travelling,  at  this  moment, toward  his  chair  at  Catania. 
We  try  to  simi  up  as  best  we  can  what  we  learned  dur- 
ing the  days  passed  at  Pozzuoli,  at  Baia,  and  at  Cumae, 
and  I  drag  the  scholar  from  his  geological  interests  to 
make  him  talk  poetry  about  the  end  of  worlds  and  our 
annihilation  in  the  universe. 

"It  is  an  eloquent  tribute,   Peppino,   that  your 


WITH  THE  SIBYL  373 


studies  have  led  you  to  the  tenderness  that  you  have 
for  the  sage  Caicus.  After  having  examined  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  having  come  to  the  knowledge 
that  all  things  are  moving  and  without  end,  you  have 
reached  that  serenity  over  everything  enjoyed  by  our 
Renan.  But,  in  order  to  know  what  you  wished  to 
know  of  the  works  below  our  crust  of  soil,  you  did  not 
spell  serenity  as  inaction.  You  are  the  true  sage 
who  accomplishes  his  mission  without  demanding  of 
it  a  recompense,  or  even  an  ending.  Your  motto  is : 
Let  us  work.  The  strength  which  goes  out  from  us 
will  make  of  our  efforts  such  use  as  they  require,  since 
they  are  allied  to  the  general  organism  no  less  than  the 
plants,  and  we  know  no  more  than  they  to  what  our 
flowering  will  lead.  Caicus,  who  knew  all,  because  he 
wished  to  know  nothing,  was  not  less  filled  with  the 
virtue  of  knowledge.  Let  us  live  like  the  plants  and 
like  Buddha.  Let  us  flower  and  be  good.  Yet,  grant 
one  last  favour  to  your  friend,  the  traveller.  Like 
the  boy  of  Baia  of  whom  Pliny  speaks,  I  should  like  to 
go  to  your  school  every  day.  To  shorten  his  way, 
that  pupil  mounted  on  the  back  of  a  dolphin  of  Lake 
Lucrino,  which  he  had  stocked  with  dolphins,  and  which 
carried  him  across  the  bay  to  Pozzuoli.  You,  who  have 
stocked  all  these  places,  call  the  dolphin,  and  upon  his 
poetic  back,  let  us  gather  up  all  the  progress  that  you 
will  agree  to  as  far  as  the  shores  of  Parthenope." 


374  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

"Alas,  my  friend,  there  are  no  more  dolphins! 
Monte  Nuovo  crushed  them  all,  together  with  Cicero, 
Hadrian,  and  all  the  legends.  Nothing  of  all  that 
lives  now  but  in  us  who  must  do  our  best  to  keep  alive 
the  memory  of  the  great  and  the  good,  until  that  dis- 
tant day  when  human  things  will  have  disappeared  for 
the  general  welfare  and  the  inexhaustible  generation 
of  the  universe." 


5 


6^ 


FifteentH   Day 

THE  POISON  CASE 

Ves\ivi\is 

THOUGHT,  for  a  moment,  to  give  a 
touch  of  originality  to  my  visit  to 
Naples,  by  not  making  the  ascent  of 
Vesuvius.  But,  if  I  did  that,  I  ought 
to  have  left  out  Pompeii,  because,  out 
of  every  hundred  visitors  to  Naples,  at  least  fifty  come 
chiefly  for  these  two  phenomena.  They  have  nothing 
in  common,  however;  for  it  is  probable  that  it  was  not 
the  volcano  that  we  call  Vesuvius,  but  its  twin,  Monte 

375 


376  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Somma,  that  covered  Pompeii.  When  that  eruption 
took  place,  Somma  and  Vesuvius  were  not  as  distinctly 
separated  as  they  have  since  become  and  the  cone  of 
eruption  lay  to  the  east  of  the  present  one — that  is, 
probably,  where  Somma  is  now.  The  present  crater 
has  been  formed  but  lately,  speaking  geologically. 
So,  those,  of  whom  I  am  one,  who  have  leaned  over 
this  mouth  to  the  Infernal  Regions,  cannot  even  have 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  from  there  issued  the 
lava  that  choked  Herculaneum.  Sad,  but  probably  true ! 
And  the  trip  is  so  tiring!  Even  the  indefatigable 
President  De  Brosses  complained  of  it,  although  it  is  to 
be  remembered  that  he  could  not  accomplish  his  duty 
as  we  can  ours.  Pleased  he  was,  however,  that  it  was 
accomplished,  if  only  for  the  reason  that  he  need  no 
longer  listen  to  descriptions  of  how  others  had  achieved 
the  feat .  * '  Yes , "  he  woul  d  say  with  an  air,  "  I ' ve  been 
up;  now,  for  heaven's  sake,  let  us  talk  of  something 
else."  While  the  cable  railway  saves  me  all  zeal  in  the 
ascent,  I  have  leisure  to  recall  with  what  comic  force 
the  good  President  describes  his  ascension.  "There 
is  nothing  but  heaps  of  stone  blocks,  of  iron,  sulphur, 
alum,  glass,  bitumen,  nitre,  terra  cotta,  copper, 
moulded  or  fused  in  a  foamy  manner  in  the  form  of 
pyrites  or  dross.  ,  .  .  There  is  nothing  so  hideous 
to  see  as  these  masses  of  iron  sponge,  as  hard  as  they 
are  rough.     You  cannot  imagine  anything  more  dis- 


Eruption  of  Mt.  Vesuvius  in  1906 


THE  POISON  CASE  j.'j-j 

gusting  than  these  infamous  ejections,  and  one  walks 
over  them  with  inconceivable  fatigue.  All  these  mis- 
shapen balls  of  dross  roll  incessantly  under  the  feet 
and  make  you,  thanks  to  the  detestable  rapidity  of 
the  earth,  descend  two  fathoms  when  you  believe  that 
you  are  making  a  step  upwards.  We  had  with  us — 
worse  luck — a  troop  of  peasants  who  left  their  vine- 
yards all  along  the  cultivated  portion  of  the  hillside 
to  follow  us.  They  all  wore  hooded  cloaks  and  called 
themselves  ciceroni,  armed  with  ropes,  straps,  thongs, 
in  which  they  enveloped  themselves  and  us,  too. 
Each  one  of  us  found  himself  seized,  in  spite  of  all 
resistance,  b)''  four  of  these  rascals,  dragging  us  by  the 
four  members,  trying  to  separate  the  tourists  from  one 
another  under  pretext  of  guiding  us  up  to  the  crater; 
while  others,  in  giving  us  a  push  behind,  made  us  go 
face  first  on  the  ground.  .  .  .  Oh,  you  dog  of  the 
mountain,  apanage  of  the  devil,  breath  of  Lucifer,  you 
did  well  to  abuse  me  all  that  you  could  when  you  had 
the  opportunity!  I  may  come  back  to  Naples  a  thou- 
sand times,  but  you  will  never  have  another  chance  at 
me ;  and  rather  than  see  again  your  infected  whirlpool, 
I  would  rather 

"  Become  a  booby,  a  cabbage-head,  be-£ooled,  a  churl, 
And  that  Mr.  Satan  come  and  break  my  neck!  " 

'  "Devenir  cruche,  chou,  lanteme,  loup  garou, 
Et  que  Monsieur  Satan  m'y  vlnt  rompre  le  cou!" 


378  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

Although  I  had  no  such  accidents  as  those  that  befell 
the  President,  I  must  confess  that  I  returned  from  the 
ascent  in  a  state  of  mind  much  resembling  his.  What 
does  one  see  on  Vesuvius ?  Nothing.  That  is  nothing 
that  one  does  not  see  elsewhere  or  in  other  ways.  One 
sees  vineyards,  chestnut  trees,  then  lava,  the  thousand 
varieties  of  volcanic  dross,  and,  at  length,  the  crater, 
an  enormous  cavity  having  "the  form  of  a  drinking 
glass,"  in  which  the  masses  of  smoke,  taking  you  by 
the  throat,  prevent  you  from  entering.  Certainly,  it  is 
moving  to  see  a  monster  that  can  vomit  up  death  every 
day,  that  did  it  yesterday,  that  will  do  it  tomorrow. 
But,  upon  reflection,  we  appreciate  that  it  is  these 
effects,  not  their  source,  which  are  palpitating,  and  I 
should  have  given  up,  and  willingly,  all  thought  of 
coming  up  here  today,  if  I  had  not  been  solemnly 
promised  that  tomorrow  the  volcano  would  be  in  a 
state  of  eruption.  In  my  youth,  I  was  told,  at  a  fair, 
that  there  was  to  be  an  exhibition  of  "the  offspring 
of  a  carp  and  a  rabbit."  The  crowd  rushed  to  see  it, 
and  the  showman  announced  that  while  waiting  for 
the  wonder  to  attain  the  state  of  health  which  would 
permit  it  to  be  exhibited,  he  would  show  the  parents. 
It  is  only  the  father  that  I  see  in  Vesuvius.  How 
magnificent  he  is  from  a  distance !  From  the  Neapoli- 
tan Marina,  among  other  points  of  view,  at  sunset ;  or, 
at  any  hour  of  the  day,  from  the  Royal  Palace,  from 


THE  POISON  CASE  379 

which  he  seems  to  spread  out  his  great  sovereign's 
mantle,  its  precious  stones  lighted  by  every  sort  of  fire! 
Vesuvius  is  one  of  the  wonders  that  it  is  better  not  to 
a  proach  if  one  would  like  to  keep  all  one's  respect  for 
it.  From  afar  it  must  always  be  enigmatic  and  ter- 
rible. Nearby  it  is  a  poor  and  dirty  mountain  whose 
details  make  one  forget  what  it  is  that  gives  it  its 
beauty,  which  is  its  incomparable  form,  and  its  gran- 
deur, which  is  its  terrible  doings. 

And  yet,  with  De  Brosses,  I  ask  myself,  **  Can  I  wish 
today  that  I  had  not  taken  the  trouble?  That  is  a 
consideration  that  the  traveller  should  never  lose  sight 
of;  it  would  even  be  well  to  make  it  a  general  maxim 
or  an  obligatory  precept."  Vesuvius  served  me  for  a 
farewell,  at  least.  From  its  summit,  my  gaze  em- 
braced this  prodigious  bay  on  whose  shores  I  have  just 
been  living  some  wonderful  days.  Here  I  could  tell 
off  the  stages  of  all  I  had  experienced,  round  off  their 
periods  in  my  memory.  Standing,  as  the  mountain 
does,  in  the  centre  of  the  bay,  it  is  its  culminating 
point,  gathering  about  it  all  the  waters,  the  heights, 
the  plains,  and  all  the  cultivated  land  surrounding 
it.  The  "prodigious  oven,"  as  Misson  says,  heats  all 
living  things  of  this  place,  engenders  and  nourishes 
them.  If  men  may  lay  ruins  to  its  account,  they  also 
owe  to  it  prosperity  that  has  no  equal.  Chimney  of 
Hell,  it  gives  testimony  to  the  terrestrial  activity  by 


380  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

which  the  vineyards  are  enriched.  Enthroned  Hke  a 
king,  Vesuvius  presides  over  his  entire  domain.  At 
his  feet  lies  the  belt  of  white  villages,  from  San  Gio- 
vanni to  Torre  Annunziata.  Upon  his  knees  are 
Ottajano,  Sant'  Anastasia,  San  Giuseppe.  Then, 
Naples  is  on  his  right  hand  and  Castellammare  on  his 
left,  in  the  curves  of  the  beaches  that  he  consents  to 
leave  open.  Beyond  Naples  extend  the  Phlegraean. 
Fields  and  beyond  Castellammare  rise  the  mountains 
of  Sorrento,  like  sentinels  of  his  vast  possessions. 
Capri  seems  but  a  part  of  Cape  Minerva;  and,  for  the 
first  time  at  Naples,  I  see  the  open  sea,  while  behind 
me,  on  the  land  side,  in  the  distance,  the  Apennines 
are  pushed  up  by  the  plains  of  Samo,  of  Nola,  and  of 
Capua.  Standing  here  quietly  upon  the  summit,  I 
no  longer  see  Vesuvius.  Mounted  upon  his  throne 
beside  him,  I  find  him  only  kindly,  paternal,  and  I 
forget  all  the  fables  that  make  him  out  so  terrible. 
From  the  time  of  the  siren  Parthenope,  whom  Ulysses 
disdained,  to  this  day  there  has  always  been  the  genius 
of  the  place,  fruitful  and  generous,  sometimes  a  bit  of 
a  grumbler,  always  provident,  although  his  actions 
have  been  known  to  upset  the  routine  of  life  and  plans 
for  the  future  of  limited  man. 

From  the  height  of  these  rocks,  I  can  look  over  all 
the  ways  that  I  have  so  recently  trod  around  their 
flanks,  and  I  think  of  all  their  stages,  from  the  coming 


Auth  or 


Ascending  Mt.  Vesuvius 


Alinari 


The  Siunmit  of  Mt.  Vesuvius  as  Seen  from  the  Observatory 


382  A   FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

merely  allowing  me  to  see  the  splendour  of  her  forms 
that  some  faults  of  taste  in  the  drapery  do  not  hide, 
and  I  promise  myself  to  be  less  unjust  the  following 
day.  But  it  is  all  forgotten  before  the  Baroque 
abominations.  Yet  I  should  like  to  be  credited  with 
the  good  intention  to  be  fair.  All  extremes  justify 
themselves  in  this  multiple  Naples,  as  one  thinks  of  the 
Greeks  or  of  the  Bourbons,  of  Ribera  or  of  Domeni- 
chino,  of  the  Via  del  Tribunali  or  of  the  Marina. 
They  form  the  charm  of  the  city,  these  perpetual  op- 
positions which  keep  you  jtmiping  between  curses  of 
disgust  and  transports  of  delight.  Naples  has  always 
been  reputed  as  the  city  of  love,  and  is  it  not  because 
of  these  moving  contrasts?  The  pleasure  that  she 
gives  makes  one  forget  the  bitterness  she  roused  the 
moment  before,  until  some  new  outrage  effaces  that, 
to  be  outweighed,  in  turn,  by  a  fresh  delight.  And, 
in  the  end,  as  with  love,  the  tender  emotion  is  always 
uppermost  in  our  memories. 

Yes,  when  the  whole  account  is  balanced,  Naples 
carries  us  off  our  feet.  In  her  own  bosom  she  bears 
the  maximum  of  beauty,  and,  then,  she  has  her  mu- 
seum of  the  arts.  Have  I,  perhaps,  already  given  too 
much  importance  to  that  ?  There  is  a  certain  pride  in 
our  artistic  ecstasies ;  at  bottom,  it  is  ourselves  whom 
we  admire  through  Michelangelo.  At  Naples,  one  finds 
oneself  more  disinterested,  simpler,  nearer  to  the  inac- 


THE  POISON  CASE  383 

cessible  gods.  The  beauty  of  nature  makes  of  us  less 
feverish  captives  than  the  arts,  since  nature  is  always 
more  detached  from  our  human  weaknesses;  and  at 
Naples  the  sovereign  beauty  is  nature.  In  the  first 
chapter  I  have  spoken  of  what  constitutes  it :  perfec- 
tion itself;  grace  and  strength,  charm  in  majesty. 
Naples  is  complete,  finished.  Those  to  whom  natural 
wonders  are  more  interesting  than  those  of  any  other 
sort  find  everything  brought  together  here  with  their 
greatest  effect. 

That  is  what  impels  me,  at  the  end  of  the  reckoning, 
to  worry  over  some  of  my  severities.  I  would  not 
give  them  up  for  anything  in  the  world  but,  before  the 
magnanimous  bay,  I  am  disposed  to  ask  to  be  excused 
for  them.  They  really  do  not  matter.  With  all  her 
blemishes,  Naples  is  absolutely  beautiful;  and  if  you 
do  not  concede  that  she  has  any  faults,  I,  too,  am  as 
ready  to  admire  them  as  her  good  qualities.  If  you 
will  leave  me  the  faculty  of  distinguishing  with  my 
reason,  I  will  consent  to  embrace  all  with  my  love. 
Like  Galileo,  I  will  admit  that  the  earth  does  not  move, 
since  I  can  affirm  that  it  does.  Besides,  why  not 
accept  everything  when  one  has  been  not  only  to 
Vomero  and  Camaldoli,  but,  and  especially,  from  the 
Pompeian  plain  to  the  Phlegraean  Fields?  The  sav- 
ages were  able  to  attack  Naples,  biit  they  were  not 
able  to  steal  her  crown. 


384  A  FORTNIGHT  IN  NAPLES 

The  wonders  that  she  has  gathered  about  her  fully 
justify  her  in  whatever  she  is.  But  they  are  not 
Naples,  you  say.  Yes,  they  are,  I  contend,  because 
they  all  have  in  her  their  centre.  The  Siren  is  not  at 
Castellammare,  nor  at  Miseno,  but  at  Parthenope. 
Were  Pozzuoli  extinct,  Naples  would  still  be  resplend- 
ent. If  my  friend  Peppino  were  here,  he  would  show 
me  the  admirable  shelter  against  the  north  wind  that 
the  Siren  has  chosen :  once  more  geography  triumphs 
over  statecraft.  This  still  burning  earth  was  made  to 
attract  men,  and  her  most  comfortably  warm  corner 
must  triumph  over  every  other  part.  All  the  bar- 
barous avidities,  to  which  the  anger  of  Vesuvius  some- 
times lends  aid,  coalesced  as  they  might  be,  have 
gained  nothing  of  lasting  power  over  Naples.  She 
has  grown  greater  continually  in  spite  of  the  men 
snatched  away  from  her.  For  that,  too,  we  love  her 
wholly,  even  in  her  repulsiveness.  Whoever  has  seen 
her  once  will  desire  to  see  her  again  and  always  again. 
Greek  Cumae  has  passed  on  to  Naples,  Roman  Baia 
has  found  refuge  here.  Therefore  she  has  all  perfec- 
tions, all  sentiments,  as  she  has  all  the  prodigies  of 
nature.  Naples  is  whole;  the  entire  world  might  see 
itself  in  her  masterpieces  as  in  her  sanies,  in  her  defects 
as  in  her  splendours. 

As  I  am  thinking  of  the  most  charming  ornaments 
of  Naples,  why  does  the  pharmacy  of  the  Hospice  of 


THE  POISON  CASE  385 

Incurables  come  to  my  mind?  I  see  the  great  hall 
lined  with  carved  woodwork  and  divided  off  like 
the  stalls  of  the  monastery  choir,  a  sort  of  library  of 
historic  tablets,  tall  headpieces,  covered  with  chub- 
cheeked  angels,  with  foliage,  with  columns  and  ara- 
besques. And,  upon  the  rays — immense  glories  of 
bronze  that  carry  the  iridescent  bottles  wherein  sleep 
the  poisons — are  an  army  of  vases  in  the  porcelain  of 
the  Marches,  yellow  and  blue,  red  and  green,  all  alike, 
in  a  miraculous  gamut  of  joy  and  radiance.  Human 
infirmity  leads  to  these  shining  vases:  like  Naples. 
She  may  have  pains  and  sores;  she  has  the  remedies 
also.  Her  brilliancy  brings  forgetfulness  of  her  sad- 
ness, and  the  iridescent  flasks  carried  by  her  rays  of 
glory  faithfully  keep  their  salutary  poisons,  to  at 
least  perfume  and  soften  her  incurable  sufferings. 


The  End 


Little  Cities  of  Italy 

By  Andre  Maurel 

Translated  by  Helen  Gerard 
Author  of  ••  The  Story  of  the  Thirteen  Colonies  ** 

2  vols.  Sold  Separately.   Beautifully  Illustrated. 
Each  $2.50  net.     By  mail,  $2.70 

First  Series.     With  52  Illustrations 

Florence — San    Qimignano — Monte    Oliveto — 

Pisa — Lucca — Prato — Pistoia — Arezzo — Lecco 

— Bergamo — Brescia — Verona — Vicenza — • 

Padua — Mantua — Arqua 

Second  Series.     With  40  Illustrations 

Milan — Pavia — Piacenza — Parma — Modena — 

Bologna — Ferrara — Ravenna — Pesaro — 

Rimini — Urbino — Perugia — Ass'si — 

Spello — Montefalco — 5poleto — 

Orvieto — Viterbo,  etc. 

M.  Maurel  has  wandered  from  town  to  town,  painting 
in  vivid  colors  his  impressions  of  their  historic  and  artis- 
tic aspects,  showing  with  keen  insight  how  closely  allied 
are  these,  what  each  owes  to  the  other,  and  how  indebted 
is  the  present  to  both.  To  the  lover  of  Italy  the  book 
will  afford  fresh  delight,  and  to  those  whose  Italy  consists 
only  of  Venice,  Florence,  Rome,  and  Naples  these  little 
sketches  will  open  new  and  charming  fields  of  interest. 

Q.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


A 
MONTH  IN  ROME 

By 

ANDRE  MAUREL 


Readers  of  M.  Maurel's  earlier  vol- 
umes, the  Little  Cities  of  Italy,  will  recall 
with  delight  how  they  were  led  from 
town  to  town  under  the  guidance  of  a 
cicerone  who  with  consummate  skill  pre- 
sented a  novel  blend  of  history,  art, 
and  description. 

In  this  new  volume  the  reader  is 
afforded  the  opportunity  to  wander 
through  Rome,  viewing,  through  M. 
Maurel's  eyes,  a  Rome  that,  to  those 
who  have  seen  it  with  the  assistance 
only  of  a  guide  book,  will  have  gained  a 
fascinatingly  changed  aspect.  The  vol- 
ume is  very  fully  illustrated  from  photo- 
graphs and  also  contains  ground  plans 
of  great  interest  and  help  to  the  reader. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


WORKS  ON  ART  ANO  THE  ITALIAN  RENAISSANCE 

By  BERNHARD  BERENSON 

The  Venetian  Painters  of  the  Renaissance 

With  an  essay  on  their  genius  and  a  full  list  of  their 
works  in  British  and  Continental  galleries.    Frontispiece. 
Third £diiion,  revised  and  enlarged.    12°.  Gilt  top. 
New  edition  in  larger  form,  with  24  photogravure  repro- 
ductions of  famous  paintings.     4". 

"  One  of  the  best  things  I  have  ever  read  upon  so  delicate  a  subject. 

It  merits  translating:  into  Italian."— Signor  Bonghi,  writing  in  Za  Cultura. 

'  *  A  genuine  contribution  to  the  literature  of  art. — Boston  Transcript, 

The  Florentine  Painters  of  the  Renaissance 

With  an  essay  on  their  genius  and  a  full  list  of  their 
works  in  British  and  Continental  galleries.  With  a  helio- 
type  Frontispiece.    Second  Revised  Edition.    12°. 

"A  hig-hly  competent  student  of  Italian  art  a  practitioner  of  the 
most  modem  methods  of  investigation.— /^n<^on  Times. 

The  Central  Italian  Painters  of  the  Renaissance 

With  an  index  to  the  Works  of  the  Principal  Central 
Italian  Painters.     With  a  Frontispiece.    12°. 

"  A  scholarly  and  artistic  discussion  of  decoration  and  illustration, 
followed  by  brief  critiques  on  the  different  artists  of  Central  Italy.  The 
last  75  pages  contain  an  invaluable  index.  The  index  alone  is  worth  far 
more  than  the  price  of  the  \>oo)c.—  lVoosler  Posi-Graduate . 

By  QEORQE  B.  ROSE 

Renaissance  Masters 

The  Art  of  Raphael,  Michelangelo,  Leonardo  da  Vinci, 
Titian,  Correggio,  and  Boticelli.      12°. 

"  It  is  not  a  boolc  for  the  elect  and  learned  only,  but  for  the  unin- 
itiated who  wish  to  be  able  to  enjoy  the  masterpieces  intelligently.  It  is  a 
real  pleasure  to  read  the  boolc  and  to  begin  or  end  one's  study  of  these 
artists  with  so  sympathetic  and  discrimmating  a  guide."  —journal  0/ 
Education, 

Descriptire  circular  of  Works  on  Art  etc.  teat  oa  applicatioa 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  I^NDON 


"  Supplies  a  genuine  need." — N.    Y.   Observer 


Sacred  Symbols  in  Art 

By  HIzabeth  E.  Goldsmith 

8vo.  53  Illustrations. 

"  Symbolism  underlies  so  much  of  the  art  of 
the  past  that  the  one  who  visits  the  art  galleries 
without  some  knowledge  of  it  is  like  a  wanderer 
in  a  labjrrinth  who  has  not  the  key.  And  even 
for  those  who  have  a  fair  knowledge  of  the  com- 
mon symbols  a  ready-reference  book  is  invalu- 
able. Any  one  who  has  had  the  experience  of 
looking  through  a  half-dozen  books  in  search  of 
some  particular  thing,  will  be  glad  to  find  a 
book  like  this  with  its  double  index  and  cross 
references.  In  brief,  it  is  an  excellent  book  of 
reference,  useful  alike  to  the  traveller  and  the 
student." — Boston  Eve.  Transcript. 

"The  information  is  compact,  concise;  the 
illustrations  are  frequent  and  beautifully  re- 
produced. It  can  be  especially  recommended 
to  those  who  intend  to  visit  European  art 
museums." — Review  of  Reviews, 

G.    P.    Putnam's   Sons 

New  York  London 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


OCT  1  6  ?Q06 


A     000  089  968     2 


